Love on Probation
by thebravestmanIeverknew
Summary: Draco's put on trial after the war ends. Can he pull off a convincing nice act - or will Hermione remain unmoved? Not epilogue compliant. Rated T for suggestiveness in later chapters, and mild language.
1. Chapter I: The Plan

**Author's note: **My first story! :) It's longer than I would've liked, and I know the first couple chapters are pretty plot-heavy, but put up with it, I promise it'll get better! Read & review...

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><p>Hermione wasn't sure what she'd gotten herself into. She cast a slightly nervous look sideways at Ginny as they walked down Diagon Alley in the fading twilight. Ginny smiled reassuringly back, driving her anxiety up several notches. Why had she agreed to this harebrained scheme in the first place?<p>

"Ginny, I-"

"Don't do this, Hermione. You're the only person who can handle it. You can't let me down."

The response was more harsh than necessary, Hermione decided. Which meant _something_ was definitely up. Ginny was holding some (possibly important?) information back. What was it?

Ginny, on the other hand, thought to herself that this was exactly how she had wanted it to work out. So far, so good. She could enjoy the fruits of her hard work now, after weeks of careful planning.

It all started when, fresh out of Hogwarts four years previously, Ginny had gone to work at the Ministry. She quickly proved her prowess as a prosecutor. The surprisingly large number of Death Eaters that still had to be sent to Azkaban kept the Wizengamot busy. Her practical nature, coupled with just a tiny amount of mercy, made her the ideal lawyer when trying criminal Death Eaters.

Her plan began on a nondescript Tuesday in July. "Morning Susan," she greeted her coworker with a smile, walking into the office. "Abbott," she nodded, and, seeing Ernie MacMillan skulking around a corner, cheerfully waved. "You don't have to hide, silly. We all know you're here to see Hannah." Her former classmates blushed, matching each other in deep shades of red.

Susan chuckled at her bluntness, then added, "Oh, this week will be interesting for you."

"Really? Who's on trial?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"You're kidding. You can't possibly be serious." It really was too good to be true.

"See for yourself." She tossed the case file over to Ginny, who deftly caught it with one hand.

"Wonderful," she breathed. It was time for revenge.

A couple of hours later, she found herself in front of the Wizengamot and the Minister of Magic – and a pale-haired, pale-faced boy with a permanent smirk etched on the jowls of his long, thin face.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are here under charges of…"

Ginny knew the drill by heart, and decided to tune it out for a bit in favor of mentally running through what she wanted to happen, and how she would make it work. When she was finally called up to the stand, she did not begin explaining the charges as everyone expected. "Perce-er, Minister, I request a meeting with the defendant. In private," she added, just in case that wasn't implicitly understood.

Percy Weasley look baffled for a moment, then leaned over to have a whispered conversation with his undersecretary, Ernie MacMillan. "Yes, Miss Weasley, that can be arranged."

Ginny repressed a snort. She still couldn't get over being called "Miss Weasley" by her own brother, even if he was the Minister of all witches and wizards in Britain. There was work to be done, though, and she couldn't afford distractions.

A few minutes later, she found herself face to face with the man himself in an old, dusty, empty meeting room on the lower levels of the Ministry. Only a desk sat between her and Draco Malfoy, and it was hard for Ginny to not lean conspiratorially towards him.

Draco smirked. "Ginny Weasley. I ought to have known. You and your blood-traitor family seem to have effectively infiltrated the ministry."

"I'm not here to make small talk, Malfoy."

"Really? You could have fooled me. I was under the impression we were long lost friends meeting for tea & reacquainting ourselves. And then I remembered you're a Weasley, not fit to shine my shoes with your filthy hands."

Okay, so maybe this wasn't going _quite_ as planned. "Look, convict," she snarled, and he seemed to flinch oh-so-very slightly at the word. "The scales are tipped in my favor now. Look who's Minister. Who's on the Wizengamot. Oh, and did you see the new statues in the Ministry lobby? It's us, the DA. Not you. I'm the prosecutor; I strongly suggest you listen to what I have to say."

"Fine. Shoot. Doesn't mean I have to accept." The smirk never left his face, and Ginny was struck with a strong urge to slap him.

"You give me names, information, and prove that you've changed heart, and I'll get them to reduce your sentence."

"Sentence? Azkaban? Not so fast, Weasley. I could get my hands on a good defense lawyer yet."

"You'd be surprised. All your own cronies are long gone, you know."

Malfoy hadn't considered this. "Who's left?" he asked thoughtfully, weighing his options.

"For defense lawyers? The best one is Brian Creevey. He seems to have the highest success rate."

"Creevey sounds familiar. Weren't there two Gryffindor mudblood brats-"

"He's their relative, if I'm not wrong. Cousin, or something. Colin & Denis, both brave, fine, young muggleborns, were both killed in action during the final battle." Stretching the truth, just a _little_ bit.

Draco brushed aside Ginny's accusatory tone, sarcastically referring to the situation as "unbiased."

"This, biased? This isn't even close to what it was like having the Carrows teach," interjected Ginny hotly.

"Or having Snape as headmaster?" Draco's voice was soft now, sly, almost.

Ginny paused for a moment. "Well, yes. That too. He let it all happen, under his nose, even if he was innocent in the end."

Draco didn't say anything for a while. It seemed as though he was retreating back into himself, unwilling to venture out into the open space between him and Ginny. Then- "What are my other options by way of defense? Not that you'd give me a decent idea, being my prosecutor and all."

Ginny pretended to think. "I could always tell the entire Wizengamot that you've changed heart, and prove it by saying that Harry Potter himself saw fit to save you from the Fiendfyre." She couldn't hold back the smirk.

His pale skin got even paler as he blanched at that idea. "I have no idea what on earth you're talking about, Weasley," he scoffed. "You could at least make some attempt at sense."

She laughed. "I'm pretty sure you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Malfoy. Harry tends to talk to me, from time to time, now that we're engaged, you know." She smiled to herself as she twisted her engagement ring round and round her finger.

The fact that the only way out was admitting that he had been pitied by Harry seemed to anger Draco even more. "So there's no other option? Really."

She looked up, sensing victory was near. "Prove you've had a change of heart. And give us names."

"How am I supposed to go about 'proving' my alleged 'change of heart' that we really don't even know happened? And as for names, you'll have to do a little more than just reduce my sentence."

"Oh, I have some tasks in mind that you should enjoy completing."

"Like what? Interacting with muggles? Oh, the horror." He wasn't being wholly sarcastic.

"Quite simple, really. Prove you're on our side now. Learn to, oh I don't know – _be nice? _Or _polite_? Yes, maybe work with some muggles. I'll think up something suitable, don't worry."

"All for a reduction of my sentence?I may be on trial, but I'm still a Malfoy. And you're still a Weasley."

"Figured that out for myself, funnily enough. If you're willing to put yourself at our mercy, then they can't really send you to Azkaban, can they, now?"

"Probation," he murmured, finally understanding. "That's what you're after. You want names, and this change of heart nonsense – and I'll get off free, except I'll be monitored."

Ginny lost all her pretense at this point. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm after."

"The sentence reduction was just a load of dung, wasn't it?"

"Took you a while," she smirked again.

"All right, fine. Say I agree to this deal. What then?"

"We go into the courtroom, and I lay it out in front of the Wizengamot."

"Who's in charge of my probation?"

"I'll see to it personally. Does that make you feel any better?"

"Worse, actually."

Ginny ignored him, rising from her seat, and ending the meeting. Malfoy wasn't to be punished by the law – no, Azkaban was too soft for him. She'd leave him in the hands of some of her very capable friends to pay for his betrayal. Plotting the death of the greatest wizard ever, Albus Dumbledore, was not something one got off with just like that.

They returned to the courtroom. Winning the Wizengamot over with her logical arguments, reasonable compromises, and some amount of feminine charm, Ginny extracted from them everything she wanted. Returning to her office for a somewhat late lunch, she felt it had been an extremely productive day.

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><p>That evening, she decided to pay a visit to Hermione's London flat on her way back to the Burrow. She hadn't really had a chance to talk to her, not since Ron and Hermione's recent break up. If you could call it a break up – they had sort of just faded out of existence, quietly, and without any major fuss. Surprisingly, they were still good friends, or so it seemed. It had been a couple of weeks, and Ginny felt that Hermione should be ready to talk about it – she probably needed someone to confide in.<p>

The two young ladies settled down, Ginny with firewhiskey, Hermione with water, on the sofa in Hermione's spacious but homey flat.

Ginny was blunt. "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly happened, between you and my freckly git of a brother?"

Hermione laughed at that, staring into the crackling fireplace from where they sat on the couch. "We just… weren't working. It's like…" Her muggle brain wanted to compare beer and wine, but the witch in her knew that would go over Ginny's head. She struggled to accurately translate the analogy. "Well, I guess you could say he talked Quidditch Quarterly, and I spoke Transfiguration Today, you know?"

"You're too smart for him." A smile played on Ginny's lips.

She shrugged. "And he's got the emotional range of a teaspoon. Not exactly what I'm looking for in a significant other."

"Yeah, I would know." There was a pause. "So there wasn't – isn't – anyone else?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she winced a little at their indelicacy. So soon after - of course the answer was no… right?

Hermione sighed wistfully. "There never will be anyone else. No one else could possibly understand what those months – years – were like. And they've made me who - what - I am. Without being there - they can't understand it, or by extension, me. Only Harry and Ron and maybe you, sometimes, come close to knowing. And Harry and I have never been…"

"Obviously." There was a hint of pride –and triumph? – in Ginny's voice as she spoke of her fiancé. "But still – you're saying that you'll be single forever? That's a bit harsh on yourself, Hermione."

The older girl merely shrugged without responding, indicating the conversation was at an end.  
>An unoccupied, single Hermione? The thought buzzed around Ginny's brain – there were so many possibilities…<p>

Hermione invited her to stay for dinner, and she gratefully accepted. It had been a long (if satisfying) day, and she knew Hermione was an excellent cook.

Inevitably, the talk turned to work. Hermione was one of the few lucky ones selected to be an Auror – the numbers of Dark-wizard catchers were slowly decreasing; they simply weren't needed anymore. Many of the Death Eaters had been caught, and sent over to Ginny's department - or gotten tangled in the miles of paperwork in between. Lately, the Auror office had been dead.

"We just don't have any leads," Hermione complained. "There are so many people still out there –Thorfinn Rowle. Yaxley. And… ugh. We just have no idea where they're hiding, under what pretense, what alias – who knows?"

Ginny smiled mysteriously. "You never know – sometimes things just, oh, pop up out of nowhere."

Hermione was skeptical. "Like anyone's going to rat out on their friends. They're _Death Eaters_, whether or not they're under the power of the Wizengamot, the Ministry, the Aurors… It's like nothing's changed!" she ended, frustrated.

"But everything's changed! We're in power now – not them. It makes all the difference in the world, doesn't it?" Ginny set down her fork, perplexed at this new perspective.

"It's not about power! There's still this big divide between them and us – it needs to be bridged – and there's just so much potential – and no one– no one's doing anything about it…" Hermione trailed off hopelessly, quickly tucking back her flyaway hair as it threatened to enter her food. No one ever seemed to understand what she meant. Not even Harry, and especially not Ron.

"What would you say if I had a certain convict who expressed a desire to bridge this gap you're talking about?"

"You mean – a Death Eater – willing to work with a mugg- mudblood like me?" She spat out the word.

"Well – willing isn't the best way to put it. He-er, this convict really has no choice in the matter; the Wizengamot has decided that a change of heart must be shown if this particular person doesn't want to go to Azkaban."

"You're not going to tell me who it is, I see."

"No, not really. I'd rather not scare you off."

Hermione emitted a harsh laugh. "After all that we've been through, me being scared is…" the conversation petered out, and the two friends finished their casserole in silence.

As Ginny left, however, she turned back, to offer her thanks for the meal, the conversation, the space – and to ask if Hermione would really be willing to start some kind of reunification.

After a moment, the bushy-haired witch quietly replied: "It's the only hope we have left, isn't it?" and shut the door.

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><p>About a week later, after settling all the paperwork, Ginny met with Draco once again."So, this is how it's going to-"<p>

"I'm not technically a convict anymore, Weasley," he drawled. "I do have some say in this."

"Not really, you don't." She was blunt; there was no time for banter. "You're going to be meeting with a former classmate of yours in about two weeks' time."

"Am I now?"

"If you don't, the Wizengamot will decide that you haven't had any change of heart, and it's off to Azkaban for you. It's in your best interest to act somewhat motivated about the goings-on."

He sighed, cornered yet again by the law. "Fine, I meet some Weasley, or Potter – or god forbid, the mudblood-"

"As a matter of fact, you _are_ going to be meeting Granger," Ginny interjected, quite smugly. "Now, there are a couple of things-"

"Hold it right there. You do not have-"

"Oh, _relax_, Draco. No one's asking you to marry her," she scoffed. "You're not fit to wipe the slime off her boots." She still maintained a slight hope that if anyone could reform Malfoy, it was Hermione.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but seemed to note that it was the first time she had addressed him by his given name. "You're asking me to wine and dine and sweet-talk the mudblood, and then propose some kind of re-union movement or something sappy, I take it."

"Eventually, yes. I don't expect the first meeting to be that productive; you two will probably spend more time biting each other's heads off more than anything. I don't think she'll be expecting anything nice from you, and she'll be on her guard against anything you have to say. For good reason, too," she added.

"You're setting me up on a blind date with Granger."

"Like I said, you're not fit to wipe the slime off of her boots," she replied nastily.

"And if I say no?"

"Why," cried Ginny in mock surprise. "You must be biased against muggleborns and DA members and the Ministry. That's the only reason you would say no before you've even met her!"

Draco ground his teeth in frustration. It was best to get this over with; perhaps Hermione would reject him completely on the first go, and there would be no blame on his part. _That_ was very probable, he realized. God knows Granger had enough power now, even as a mudblood, to reject him, a Malfoy, of noble pureblood descent. What on earth had the wizarding world come to?

He had no choice but to agree – and so he did. The meeting time was finalized; the location set – a fancy new restaurant on Diagon Alley, _Baguettes and Beyond_. Hermione was informed of all the details – except who she would be seeing.


	2. Chapter II: Awkward Moments

**Author's Note: **Hermione & Draco meet - do sparks fly? Does she throw food at his face (that _would_ be funny)? Read & review! Apologize - chapters are kind of long/varied in length...

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><p>They stopped at the restaurant, and Ginny held the door open as Hermione stepped in. She looked back at Ginny. "You're – you're not coming? I don't-"<p>

"I can't, Hermione. This is _your_ job, _your_ wish, not mine. As the one in charge of his probation, I'm not supposed to be here anyway."

Hermione swallowed, adding, "So it's a he? At least you've told me that much."

Ginny slapped her hand across her mouth like she'd let a highly classified secret slip. "I'm becoming a regular Hagrid," she laughed through her fingers.

"Well, wish me luck. Hopefully I won't need it, but you know how it goes with these Death Eater types… I'll be lucky to get out alive."

"You're a fully trained _Auror_, silly. You were probably more skilled than most of your colleagues are now by the time you were 14."

Hermione blushed, modestly muttering about listening in class as she went inside. The waitress acknowledged her reservation with a nod, informing her that her "date" was waiting, and leading her to the table, tucked in the back corner of the restaurant.

"Quite the ketch, if I may-"

"Oh, it's not a date," Hermione interrupted hurriedly.

"Purely professional, eh?" She winked. "Let's see you try to keep it that way."

Hermione ignored the waitress, and spotted a pale blonde head sitting alone at a table. Fear overcame her as she recognized the long face – slender fingers – permanent smirk as he turned his head, searching…

His eyes alighted on her and the smirk deepened.

Rage – mostly at Ginny – filled her as she seated herself across the table from him. How dared she force Hermione to start a reunification movement with him – of all people?

_Relax_, she told herself. _He's the convict. You're in power now._

"Malfoy," she said steadily, looking him in the eye.

"Granger," he drawled, flicking the menu open lazily. "You're shocked, I see. Don't worry – I don't make a habit of this, dining with mudbloods."

"Or being a convict, I suppose. God knows you're not even worth that, Malfoy." She sighed, disappointed in herself. First words out of her mouth, and already she was being a hypocrite. Wasn't she here to _bridge_ the gap, not widen it? "If it's unity we're trying to bring about, we should probably start by being decent to each other."

"I'll do my best," he promised, his eyes clearly stating the opposite.

She struggled to find something polite to say, and, failing, she chose to scan the menu and selected an entrée.

The waitress soon returned, grinning broadly. Her smile grew in length and impertinence when both Draco and Hermione announced their matching orders at exactly the same time.

Hermione blushed, correctly interpreting the waitress' knowing look. Really, the audacity of some people.

Draco recovered from the awkward moment much quicker, rudely dismissing the waitress with a supercilious wave. She looked rather affronted as she walked off.

Hermione couldn't help but be slightly pleased that he had so casually gotten rid of the irritating woman. She raised her head to look at him, determined to be polite, despite her strong dislike. "So…er…how have you been, the past couple of years?" She made an attempt at conversation. God, this was awkward. She wanted out of here as fast as possible. Those hateful grey eyes laughed at her from across the table as Hermione began to doubt herself. She'd told herself for months that all she wanted was for everyone to come to terms with each other… but this was far more than she had ever bargained for. _Although_, she reasoned, _while we're here, I might as well make him pay for all the years of abuse. Something that doesn't involve me belching slugs. _She almost laughed at that memory of Ron – almost. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she came back down to earth. Draco hadn't bothered to answer her. No surprise there. "It's been four years since…since it all happened," she faltered.

His response was swift – he blurted "No, five," before he could stop himself.

Hermione frowned. "No…unless-" A possibility occurred to her. She and Draco weren't really referring to the same "it," were they? It dawned on her that the events of their sixth year had impacted him far more profoundly than the Battle of Hogwarts, or the months leading up to it. By that point, his initial shock was over and he knew what he had gotten himself into. Facing Dumbledore on the tower, though…

Her newfound understanding showed plainly on her face, and Draco cringed.

Cringed because he had fallen from grace, in this new wizarding age. Because all his Malfoy pride and dignity had been lost, trampled on by the clumsy masses of muggle-loving, pureblood-hating, post-war wizards. Because he was here, sitting at the mercy of the last person likely to show him any mercy. Most of all, because his weakness was out – and the pity was clearly written on her face.

All of this happened in an moment– almost immediately, his face recomposed itself, and he merely said, "Oh, I suppose time drags on rather slowly when you're under house arrest."

Hermione didn't say anything, still reeling from the shock of a moment's revelation. Her world had been turned upside down, placing an inordinate amount of power in her hands. She stared down at her lap, fingers intertwined, then snuck a quick glance up at the boy – man – sitting across from her. She had always seen him as insufferable – invulnerable – a fortress of arrogance keeping her out of his pureblood-only world. And now she'd discovered the one flaw in the otherwise perfect structure of that fortress. It was her way in, and she had every right to take a shovel, or a hammer, or whatever it took to beat him until the walls gave way. But that wasn't her style – that was what Ron would do, torment Malfoy until he was torn to shreds. No, she would take revenge, but in her own subtle way.

The food arrived, and Hermione struck up conversation again, taking a sip from her gillywater.

"How long were you under house arrest?"

Malfoy seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, as if debating how much to tell her. "Mother and I returned to the house fairly soon after that last battle. We were going to run away. And then – as we were putting the final touches on everything we needed to start again, somewhere else – they found us. They couldn't technically imprison us, but they put us under house arrest until further notice – essentially, until they could start the trial process."

"It took four years for that?" Hermione was horrified at the way the system worked. At least Voldemort had gotten things done _efficiently_.

"Well, no. They let us out when they started the trial process two years ago. When I say trial process, I mean - well, you can imagine the paperwork. It took two years. And we weren't priority, really. When they find out that someone like Dolohov faked death, only to run away and-"

"I know about Dolohov; I was the one who found him," Hermione brushed him aside impatiently. There were some memories she had no intention of revisiting.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I heard some…interesting things about the capture of Dolohov." It was a question, not just a statement.

She picked at her food, strengthening herself to look him in the eyes. When she did, he saw a will of steel, a professional who would not bend. "It _was_ interesting, just like every other capture. Nothing more, nothing less."

Draco raised an eyebrow. There _was_ more to the story – and he was confident in his abilities to pry it out of her sooner or later.

Inwardly, Hermione was flustered, despite the front she put up. No one knew how she had found Dolohov – right? Not the truth, anyway. She had never let that particular secret out, and the last person she would confide in was Malfoy. _He can't know. I won't let him pry it out of me, _she promised herself.

After a few minutes, a different waitress returned to check on them.

Another thought occurred to Hermione – "You don't have – house-elves – preparing this food, do you?" she asked suddenly.

The waitress was slightly baffled. "I've – never been asked that before, ma'am, and this – this is the sixth restaurant I've worked at."

"She asked you a question; answer her. No one gives a damn about your life story," Draco drawled. This was going to be amusing, he decided. _Hermione_ _Granger, welcome to the real world._ It struck him that he didn't know her middle name. Not that he needed to – probably named after some useless muggle ancestor or something.

"Draco!" Hermione hissed, mortified by his lack of manners. Turning to the waitress – "Really, though – are there house-elves working here?"

"Well yes, of course, ma'am." She stared at Hermione as though she were a complete novice.

One look at her food – back to the waitress – at Malfoy's laughing eyes, his perpetual smirk – her temper rose. She turned back to her food without further acknowledging the waitress, prodding it with her fork, and debating whether to finish it or not.

"Don't tell me you didn't know that, Granger." Draco was delighted at her ignorance. "Of course restaurants have house-elves. How else do you expect… well, it just goes to show that some of us aren't as smart as others. Mudblood," he spat.

And then – the stroke of brilliance. Like a lightning strike, Hermione had it. She looked at Malfoy, eyes flashing. "I have a job for you, Malfoy."

"What's the guarantee that I'll do it?"

"Oh, I'll be speaking with your probation officer," she grinned nastily.

He groaned.

"Don't worry – it's not detention in the Forbidden Forest; I remember how much that terrified you first year."

Scowling, he made a rude hand gesture, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, though. You're going to help me with a little side project of mine."

"That sounds scarier than the Forbidden Forest any day." And then he understood. "It doesn't have to do with – house-elves – does it?"

She smiled happily. "Oh, you've caught on. Wonderful."

Draco groaned again, settling back into his seat. What was it with women and their secret plans?


	3. Chapter III: Comeback

**Author's Note: **Hermione has some self-image issues, maybe? Read & find out :)

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><p>When Hermione went into work on Monday, she made it a point to send a quick interdepartmental memo to one Ginevra Weasley, requesting a meeting. She watched fondly as the old-fashioned paper plane messenger zoomed down the sunlit halls and into the lift. Settling down at her desk, she grimaced at the stack of paperwork piled high. <em>I signed up to be an Auror, not… a transcriber. <em>Now that everything had sort of settled down after the war, case files had to be prepared for official Ministry records of _everyone_ who had taken part in anything related to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

She hated this part of her job – it was mindless copywork, meant to occupy her time between missions. And missions had been getting farther and farther apart. The last time she'd actually gone Dark-wizard catching was... Dolohov. Hermione shuddered. Maybe deskwork _was_ preferable to missions, after all.

With a wave of her wand, she set her quill to work transcribing and compiling information about one Dedalus Diggle. She placed her head in her hands, the weight of her life pressing down on her still-young shoulders.

Everything just seemed so ordinary now. The Hermione Granger of previous years had faded into a complete nobody with a dayjob as a Ministry secretary. Adventures and excitement had given way to a mundane reality. At least for the almost-two years that she'd been with Ron, the shared memories of the war had created a sort of veil. They cloaked themselves in the illusion of the past, scared of what would happen should they discard the pretense. Now they had decided to face the real world, each for his - or her- own. Ron took the transition from war to peace well enough, happily accepting the position of Keeper on his beloved Chudley Cannons, despite their perpetual losses. But for Hermione, regular just wasn't enough. She wanted to _be _someone again.

A memo began gently nudging her bushy hair. She raised her head, grateful for the diversion. Her thoughts had been threatening to go down a dangerously depressing path.

As she unfolded the paper, anticipation began to build up. She _was_ going to be important again. And her long-time enemy, Draco Malfoy, was going to be instrumental in her comeback. Standing up and tossing her hair behind her, she strode off to meet with Ginny.

Hermione Jean Granger – a nobody? What on earth had she been thinking?

* * *

><p>Arranging a second meeting with Draco was but the work of a moment.<p>

"Just make sure you give him hell for me," Ginny added as they wrapped up.

"Oh, I'll give him hell enough to last him until he actually gets there," Hermione ominously replied.

"What do you have him working on? Just out of curiosity, you understand."

"House-elf rights!" And with that, she cheerily hummed her way back to the lifts.

Alone in her office, Ginny groaned. "You've got to be _kidding._ Almost makes you pity him. Almost."

* * *

><p>"Draco Malfoy," the pale haired young man drawled as he tapped his foot impatiently. Why on earth did this take so long?<p>

An airy female requested his purpose, and he fought back an urge to laugh snidely as he recognized Loony Lovegood's voice almost instantly.

"Meeting with the mud- Granger. Meeting with _Granger_," he said firmly. He needed to keep his accursed tongue in check, especially here, on Ministry ground.

The badge tumbled out of the little box as Malfoy adjusted his deep green cloak. He pinned it on his chest in a position such that the folds of his robe fell over it, effectively concealing his purpose from the eyes of the witches and wizards streaming in to work at 7:30 in the morning.

As it was, they stared far too much, he decided. Especially the witches. He accepted their roving looks with a smug smile, fully aware of the effect he had on females.

As of yet unnoticed by him, Hermione stood by the lifts, watching Draco sweep his cloak dramatically across the black marble of the Atrium floor. For some reason, the sight of his slender, toned body, with his high cheekbones and pronounced jawline - it - it flustered her.

Realizing her inability to deal with the situation in her current state, she decided to flee. Heading for the nearest Ministry attendant, she hurriedly instructed her to direct Malfoy downstairs to the library. _Thank god for Ministry bimbos._

"But he's right - there - can't you-" Her wondering response was lost on Hermione's retreating back.

Moments later, Malfoy arrived at the lifts. "Where's Granger?" he drawled, addressing no one in particular.

The Ministry witch Hermione had just spoken with turned to face him, adoration pouring out of her small eyes, set deep in her puglike face. "Draaaco! It's been _so_ long - how have you-"

"Never mind you, Pansy," he said, impatiently brushing away her hand, which had begun fingering the elegant silver lining of his robes. "What I need, unfortunately, is that filthy mud- er, extremely _brainy _and _attractive_ Granger." Merlin, but he would have to start watching his goddamn filthy mouth. It had made a head or two turn there,almost calling her a filthy mudblood.

Pansy howled with laughter. It was not a pleasant sound; rather, it made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck tingle, and he was sure he could hear glass breaking somewhere.

"Your beloved Granger is in the Ministry library," she informed him, drying her eyes. "Natural habitat, I suppose."

He nodded gravely, preoccupied with something, and then headed to the nearest lift without another word.

"Not even a wave or a by-your-leave," Pansy sniffed. "I dated him at school, you know," she added as the other attendant nodded, picking at her hot pink nails and pulling out her celebrity gossip magazine.

"I heard he's with that - what's her name - oh, French girl or something fancy. Beauxbatons. A-As-Astoria. Astoria, that's it."

Pansy said nothing, looking disdainfully away from her coworker. _French_ girl indeed. The nerve of some people.

In the lift, Hermione had a chance to compose herself. It was the nervousness of but a moment, nothing to bother her, really. After all, she told herself, coming into the library and smoothing her robes, she was Hermione Jean Granger - the brightest witch of the age, the Golden Trio's Golden Girl, top in her class... the list went on. She satisfied her ego quite thoroughly, and when Draco arrived at the magically-high-ceilinged hall that was the library, she had a pronounced smirk gracing her face.

Snapping up, she led Draco to a remote corner table where they could talk without being disturbed. With a wave of her wand, she muttered "muffliato," and sat down purposefully.

"So," Hermione began.

"Don't 'so' me, Granger," Draco drawled.

"So, so, so," she retorted.

He groaned. _Imbecile._

Ignoring him, she continued. "I have some paperwork I need help with." Out of her tiny wallet came a stack of parchment and a quill.

He looked at her with disbelief.

Misinterpreting it, she began to explain the specifics of the magic behind her wallet. "It's called an-"

"Undetectable Extension Charm, yes, Granger, I know. I've been able to do it since 5th year."

"Really?" She was taken aback. Trying to cover up her surprise, she gestured vaguely around them. "In this library lies every bit of magical law ever written. Including all the bylaws about non-human creatures. I want anything and everything regarding the rights of non-humans down on parchment."

Continuing to stare, Draco merely said, "Lines. You're giving me lines." She wasn't sure if that was a question or a statement.

"Er - well, yes, if you put it that way, I guess so." She seemed diffident.

"We're not at Hogwarts, Granger. And you're not some kind of McGonagall or something who-"

"I believe it was your beloved _Umbridge_ that gave us those. With our blood as ink."

He looked disgusted. "Muggle blood on parchment - eurgh."

Hermione glared at him, her eyes on fire. "There _is _an overarching reason to all of this, I assure you."

"And you won't deign to tell me what it is, I suppose."

"Not after that comment you made about muggle blood, I won't. It's your own fault." _I wouldn't have told him anyway, but might as well let him believe it's his own fault. _The tiniest bit of guilt crept into her mind.

"And I assume I have no choice but to do all of this?"

"Not really, you don't," replied Hermione frankly. "Look, I have work I need to do, so I'll be off." She turned on her heel, about to walk away, pausing for a moment to call back over her shoulder: "A week, Malfoy. On my desk next Wednesday."

"Shh!" hissed the librarian, appalled. But the bushy-haired witch was long gone, well on her way to a comeback.

* * *

><p>Upon arriving at her office, Hermione discovered a very unwelcome surprise: her coworker, Sharon Vernus. She was a recent graduate of the Salem Witches Institute, bringing stereotypically American arrogance and boorishness with her when she came to London. At the moment, she seemed to be flirting with Theodore Nott - right at Hermione's door.<p>

"Late to work?" Sharon leered.

"Hardly. I was actually-" The other witch cut her off by resuming her conversation with a smirking Nott. Scowling, Hermione attempted to magically unlock the wards surrounding her office.

Sharon and Theo chose that moment to shift a few steps, blocking the complex spell.

"Theodore," she began, gritting her teeth. "Would you _mind_ moving?"

"Of course not," he replied snidely, and move he did - completely covering the door and barring her from entering. Her wards held, however, and the shocked man was knocked down and bowled over.

With a few waves of her wand, Hermione unlocked her office, sidestepping Nott as he sat up sheepishly. Picking up the stack of forms and paperwork piled high on her desk, she decided, with a look at Sharon, that her office was not the best place to be.

Slamming the door in the other woman's overly made-up face, she resolutely stepped back into the hall and toward the lifts, returning to what was indeed her natural habitat.

After all - what better place to make a comeback than the place she originally came from?

Back to the library, back to her books, back to a taunting, obnoxious Draco Malfoy - back to the old Hermione. With a vengeance.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the Ministry, a pale-haired, pale-faced youth scowled at the pages of parchment he still had left to copy. Hermione told him a week, aware that it would take him much, much longer to get through all the books in the library. Her bet was on two weeks, at least.

Draco, however, did not know any of this. His only thought was to finish this, show up that horrid Granger, and get out of probation as fast as possible. And just as he was thinking of her shocked face at his showing up two days earlier than expected with her paperwork, she arrived back at his table.

"What?" he snapped. "More work?"

"Calm down," Hermione laughed. "This is _my_ work."

"Oh, right. Ministry secretary - pardon me for forgetting." The smirk was inevitable.

She rolled her eyes. "I've seen a lot more action than you have in the past two years, Mr. House Arrest."

"Depends on the kind of action," he insinuated. "Beds can be battlefields too."

She shot him a look of pure revulsion. "I don't need the details of what you and that _pug_ do in your bed at night."

"Pansy?" It was his turn to be disgusted. "She and I were through a long time ago. It just... yeah, it didn't work. Too many shitty memories of us from Hogwarts, I guess."

_She reminds him of all he went through those last two years at school,_ Hermione realized. _She brings baggage - memories that he isn't ready to acknowledge._

Draco was saying something else. "...and anyway, Astoria's probably the most gorgeous woman I've ever met, including you."

"Is that supposed to be an insult? And Astoria who?"

"Were you not paying me any attention, Granger?"

"No, not really. You're not top on my list of priorities." She neglected to mention that she had tuned him out in order to...well, think about him, really.

"I suppose my love life can't interest you; you've got no chance. And anyway, aren't you with the Weasel?"

"Ron? Of course not; we've been through for months."

"Oh, forgive me for not being most updated on your life. It's been a matter of _months_, goodness." The sarcasm dripped from his every word. "Pansy and I broke up right after it all happened."

"Five years ago?" She identified the right "it" this time.

The surprise in his voice was blatantly obvious. "Wait - well - I didn't -"

"Yes?" she didn't want to pressure him too much, not just yet. Subtlety was key. Her voice remained quiet.

Struggling with himself for a moment, he finally gave up. "How - how did you know?"

"That you weren't referring to the final battle? I thought... well, after giving it a little more thought than I would have otherwise, I realized that the final battle wasn't as big of a deal to you as everything in sixth year, I guess."

"So you _have _been thinking about me."

"Of course I have. How else do you expect me to effectively plan your long and torturous probation?" _Time to keep this professional_, she decided, looking at the still-untouched pile of forms she had brought with her.

Draco merely shook his head. "You're a nut, Granger. _A nut._"

Hermione just laughed. Nut or no, she knew just what she was doing.


	4. Chapter IV: Ruptures With Ronald

**Author's Note: **Hints of Romione & Ron/Lavender, and a whole lot of Ginny/Harry (it's their wedding!). Read & review!

* * *

><p>Thursday came and went, although Hermione remained on her upper-level office all day, leaving Draco alone in the library to continue his work. Neither of them would openly admit that they minded, but he was somewhat lonely, and she felt a slight twinge of guilt when Ginny asked her at lunch how the second meeting had gone. She had made it a point to order him some lunch from the Ministry cafeteria (which was <em>not<em> operated by house elves; she'd checked). He had promptly returned it, with an interdepartmental memo saying that marinara sauce was unpardonable; he only ate the finest food, prepared expressly for him by Astoria - but that he didn't mind fettucine alfredo.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his nerve, but she did send him the fettucine, making sure to delay at least another hour, just to keep him waiting.

At the end of the day, Ginny came to her office, and the two friends headed out together. The wedding was this weekend, and there were still a couple of final touches to fix up. Ginny trusted no one but Hermione to help her.

"I can't do this," she vented. "Harry warned me, told me I should just take the week off - but I said that no, I could handle it."

"You're taking tomorrow off, at any rate," Hermione consoled the distraught bride-to-be.

"That's just the bloody thing. The Wizengamot's been wanting a meeting about Draco's probation - it's barely been ten days! Can't they wait til I get back from the honeymoon? Merlin, if I'd known keeping him out of Azkaban would have made life this difficult-"

"I'll handle it," came the quiet reponse.

"He just wasn't- what? What did you just say?"

"I'm probably crazy for saying this, but yes, I'll take on the extra work. Put me in charge of his probation."

"Hermione- I don't even - that's such a burden lifted off my back, you have no idea. I have no idea what to say," Ginny finished helplessly. "Although I was kind of hoping you'd say that, eventually - out of a desire for revenge for all the times he was horrible to you at school."

"Oh, it's that - and some other things, too," she replied airily. What those other things were, she really didn't know, but she figured it probably had something to do with helping him deal with the consequences of his rash deeds five years back.

"Well, now that's settled - let's discuss this rehearsal dinner, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Friday morning, Hermione met Draco in the library.<p>

"You're back," he growled.

"Not for long," she smirked. "Just long enough to tell you that I'm now in charge of your probation."

"I thought - Weasley-"

"She'll be Weasley-Potter next time you see her, keep that in mind."

He understood. "Pottyhead keeping her busy with wedding preparations, then, I take it?"

"That is the most immature nickname I have-"

"Spare me the lecture, Granger. I have little use for it, as you well know."

With a snort, Hermione abandoned him in the library without a further word.

Watching her go with a sly grin creeping on his face, he realized just how easy this was going to be.

Returning at lunch, she found all of his parchment and belongings at his table - but no Draco. Mystified, she scanned the surrounding area, landing on his lean figure in between bookshelves. He appeared to be searching for a book.

"Looking for something?" she questioned, approaching him from the side.

"No, Granger, I just enjoy reading the titles of Ministry books of law in succession on bookshelves."

"It is interesting, though!"

He shot her such a scathing look that she couldn't find it in her to say anything more.

"Here it is," Draco murmured, pulling a dusty tome out of the shelf and thumbing through its pages. Pretending to forget she was there, he stepped towards Hermione, ostensibly tripping over the hem of his robes, and falling flat on his - or rather, her - face.

She let out a yelp as she tumbled down, his face millimeters from her own, his hot (and minty?) breath on her skin. Before he had time to react, she was up and out from underneath him, dusting her hands off.

As he stood up, he looked more confused than embarrassed - an immediate tip-off to the ever-acute Hermione.

"What are you playing at?" she demanded.

"What do you mean?" His face, the picture of innocence.

"You know fully well what I'm talking about Draco Lucius Malfoy." He flinched at the use of his father's name. "I am not," she hissed, coming closer, "some two-bit whore that is somehow_ turned on_ by you tripping yourself on top of me."

Draco stared blankly at her. This was _so_ not happening. He reacted the only way he knew how. "You're still in love with the Weasel, aren't you?"

"What? That's neither here, nor there, nor anywhere, for that matter. It has _nothing_ to do with you, whatsoever."

He smirked, characteristic arrogance right back on track. "Sure, it doesn't. I suggest you go rescue him from the clutches of Lavender, if you want him back, though."

Hermione looked at him, slightly confused, and he laughed mockingly. "I'm kidding, dolt. Kidding, see? Ha? Ha? Or does the great Granger not catch a joke?"

For the rest of her life, she swore that he knew something then, though he insisted it was just a guess.

* * *

><p>The rehearsal dinner that night was a fiasco.<p>

As expected, Ron was the best man, and Hermione was the maid of honor. That evening, though, when she finished pinning her dress and stepped outside onto the Weasley lawn to begin going through the ceremony that would take place the next day, it happened.

Ginny was pacing up and down, Harry shaking his head.

"What?" Hermione asked. Then- "Where's Ron?"

"We're...not sure," replied Ginny unsteadily. "He was supposed to get here before you, to put up the tents and all? He's still not here, obviously."

And at that moment, the Burrow's gate swung open, and an undeniably drunk Ron stumbled right into the chicken coop. He dragged an equally tipsy Lavender Brown by the hand, and she giggled uncontrollably as he stumbled, tripping on his pants.

"Well," said Hermione weakly. "At least he's wearing the right clothes."

"Her-Hermione," Ron roared.

Rolling her eyes, she replied. "Yes, Ronald?"

"I-I-I think Lavender-"

"Lav-Lav!" interjected the young woman. "Won-won, you _promised_."

"Er-right, then - Lav-Lav should be the groomsmaid."

"You want Lavender to be the maid of honor?" Ginny asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah, haid of monor. That." He waved his hand around vaguely, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand.

"Ron," interrupted Harry, drawing attention to something else entirely. "Your pants - they're inside out."

"Oh, oops," giggled Lavender.

"Righ', righ' - in the hotel - Hog's Head - they came off - must've - I'll be back in a mo', don' worry 'bout it." And with that, he disappeared into the house, leaving a very awkward situation behind him.

"So, er, hi," hiccoughed Lavender, suddenly feeling the tension surrounding her.

"You're seeing my brother," stated Ginny. The fact that someone - her own brother! - could choose _Lavender_ over _Hermione_...she didn't understand.

Harry instinctively put his arms around his two favorite ladies, drawing them closer. His fiancee smiled gratefully up at him, but his best friend relaxed only for a moment before excusing herself, and entering the house.

The couple looked uncertainly at each other.

"D'you think I should-" began Ginny.

"Yeah," came the swift reply. They were thinking along the same lines. "I'll get Ron; you get Hermione?"

"Better you than me with Ron, anyhow - I'd throw him to a mother dragon right now," she muttered as they entered the house and split ways.

Lavender Brown swayed for a moment on the spot after they left, then collapsed, too drunk to hold herself up anymore.

Harry found Ron absentmindedly cutting his own vest with his wand, staring off drunkenly into space.

Ginny found Hermione in her work clothes, fighting back tears, the dress laid out on the bed, as she raised her wand to make alterations.

"Hermione - wha-?"

"If he wants Lavender to-"

"_Hermione_. This is _my _wedding, not my git of a brother's. And I want _you_ to be my bloody maid of honor."

She laughed at that. "I'll be your bloody maid of honor, Gin."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Don't call me that. I sound like some kind of alcohol."

The two girls smiled at each other, and peace was made - sort of.

Back in the kitchen, Harry was stuck with the vest-shredding Ron.

"Ron!" He clapped his hands in Ron's face to get his attention.

"Er-mate - where have I been- oh. _Oh._" He looked at Harry in horror as Hermione, her dress in her hands, work blouse sloppily tucked into her skirt, walked into the kitchen - just as Lavender entered from the other door. The two women stopped, staring at each other, as Ginny and Harry cast each other nervous looks.

Ginny tapped Hermione's shoulder lightly.

She turned around, grinning. "Oh, come on. You don't think I'd cause a scene on the eve of your wedding, do you? What do you take me for, some floozy?" And with that, the tension was broken, because Lavender dared not start something after that kind of a statement.

Ron heaved a sigh of relief as Harry quietly slipped the firewhiskey bottle from his hand, tossing it in the trash can.

"Harry!" he cried, outraged. "There was good stuff left in there."

Everyone else just rolled their eyes - except Lavender, who didn't seem to get it.

And Mrs. Weasley came bustling through the front door, bags of groceries in her hand. "Who's up for some cooking?" she yelled happily, sending all the food to its rightful place with a wave of her wand.

With an ominous look at Ginny, Hermione threw her dress on the sofa in the other room, rolled up her sleeves, and dug in. Both she and Mrs. Weasley refused to let Ginny touch a single utensil, though Molly sent several meaningful looks Lavender's way, which were ignored until Ron gave her a slight nudge, at which she started a little, and then rushed to help.

The food took up the rest of the evening, a welcome distraction from the spectacle that had occurred earlier.

As Hermione collapsed in Ginny's room late that night, she took one look at the peaceful sleeping bride, and decided that it would all be worth it to see the happiness on her face the next day.  
>That is, if she could bring herself to get through it.<p>

* * *

><p>The wedding went off without a hitch, really, despite Ron's slightly bloodshot eyes throughout the whole thing. It was the right number of people – small enough that all were welcome, but enough for it to be a party. The only issue was during the reception in the evening, when Hermione stepped inside the house for a moment of silence – the music was giving her a headache, and she wouldn't dance. A shoe that looked like it was Lavender's – that was definitely Ron's tie – leading up the stairs – and she heard giggles and caresses and moans coming from upstairs. She very nearly apparated back to her flat at that point, but forced herself to stay, for Ginny's sake. And Harry's.<p>

The newlyweds were radiant with happiness, blissfully unaware of anyone else but each other – just how it should be, Hermione approved. As it neared midnight, however, she made her excuses quietly to Ginny, and left for the comfort of her London flat.

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley had her back at the Burrow ostensibly to dine with Harry and Ginny one last time before they left for their honeymoon. Everyone knew the real reasons: clean-up, and leftovers. Still, food was food, and support was support, so Hermione found herself back at the Burrow the next day, in the uncomfortable situation of sitting in between Ron and Lavender at the dining table. Evidently no one had bothered to tell Molly or Arthur Weasley of their son's not-so-recent break-up.

Ginny, watching from the other end of the table, thought she was taking the whole thing remarkably well, the epitome of fortitude.

Hermione meant to leave as soon as they all saw Harry and Ginny off, but Mrs. Weasley coaxed her into staying to help set the house back in order. Together, they spent the day laughing over a Gilderoy Lockhart book about household spells, recalling the days they had been smitten over him.

Molly Weasley, she decided, would have been a wonderful mother-in-law, despite her rather overbearing ways. It was unfortunate that... well, no use crying over spilled milk.

In between chores, she amused herself by playing with Bill and Fleur's toddler daughter, Victoire, and Harry's godson, Teddy.

"Is he staying with Bill and Fleur, then?" she asked, thinking Mrs. Weasley was still with her in the living room.

It was Ron who answered. "Yeah, they've been taking care of him for a while now. Harry said he'd take him once he and Ginny are settled in Grimmauld Place."

"That's - er - wonderful. He's, erm, adorable, isn't he?"

"Yeah, definitely." They were staring at each other, Teddy's cooing filling up the awkward pause.

"Lavender, then? I hope you guys are happy." The sincerity in her voice was undeniable.

"Yeah right, you do. You want him back, I can just see it!" Lavender hollered, coming into the room.

"Lav- please," Ron began. "Can she and I work this out-"

"You want me to leave you _alone_ with _her_? Won-won, I love you, but be real."

"She's still my friend," he insisted stubbornly. "I have every right to talk to her, in private, if necessary."

"You choose her over me? Fine, then- I'll just-"

"No, no, Lavender, I'll just be on my way - it's almost dinner time - I need to get home. I'll - er - leave you two to it, then." She walked out of the room, not a single glistening tear gracing her face.

Back in her London flat, she didn't even have the energy to cry, like she'd been wanting to since Friday night. She just slept - slept - slept - until her cat jumped on her, at 7 am in the morning. It was Monday. Work - and Draco - awaited her.

_I will make it through the day_, she promised herself. _And then I'll come home, and I can have my good, long, cry, where no one will ever know._


	5. Chapter V: Lonely or Alone?

**Author's note: **Things start to get interesting-ish? Just read, review, please! :)

* * *

><p>Hermione decided she couldn't handle a Draco trying to literally kiss-ass his way out of probation. It was <em>so <em>not her style. Not his, either, when she really thought about it.

Meanwhile, there were other pressing concerns to be dealt with. As she entered the lift to head downstairs for lunch, she found Ron & Lavender huddled together in a corner. Seeing her, the infamous Gryffindor slut drew her arms around Ron even tighter and began snogging him passionately. For his part, Ron returned the embrace with a near-equal vigor. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked away, frowing as the three of them got off on the same level. He didn't work here anymore, so why-

"I promised her I'd meet her for lunch," he explained, understanding her questioning expression.

Hermione smiled feebly. "I'll leave you to it, then." Not up to sitting alone now that Ginny was off honeymooning in China, she ordered food and took it up to her office - or rather, she would have, if the room wasn't already occupied. Swearing, she realized that she'd forgotten to set the wards when she left the room.

"Sharon - _sodding_ - Vernus!" she exploded upon finding Vernus and Nott quickly redressing. Slamming the door shut, she angrily threw her food at Sharon's face. The resounding _smack!_ coupled with the mass of steaming fettucine splattered all over the other woman gave Hermione no little satisfaction.

"Out," she whispered, her voice soft - dangerously so. "Before I do you _serious_ harm." She swiftly scourgified Sharon as the couple left.

Nott turned around, attempting to apologize.

"Next time you're looking for a quick fuck, go somewhere _else_," Hermione seethed. "I hear storage closets are pretty cozy. And they aren't someone else's office." With that, she shut the door in his face.

She didn't go back to her desk right away, nor did she bother going back for lunch. Instead, she leaned against the door of her office, trying desperately to regain some composure and inner stability.

It wasn't long before a knock sounded at her door. Wondering who was coming at this time of day, when most employees were busy enjoying lunch (or shagging each other), she slowly opened the door.

"Draco," she said wearily. He was the last person she wanted to see - conversations with him always drained her energy and set her mind wandering on strange tangents. For once, she wished her brain would sit still and keep quiet and not interfere with her life.

He cocked an eyebrow at her tone. "It's the first day of the week, and you already sound this exhausted? Tut, tut, Granger. Where's the old goody-two-shoes knowitall I went to school with?

"Buried under layers of I-don't-even-want-to-know-what," came the miserable reply.

"My, but you do sound lonesome." His voice was both taunting and somehow soothing.

"Just - just go away and leave me alone," she moaned.

"What, so you can go have a good cry on your desk about your utter lack of friends?"

Hermione looked up at him, frustrated at his stumbling on what was essentially the truth. "Honestly, Draco. My two best friends are on their honeymoon at the most inopportune time, so yes, I'm missing them. Is there anything unusual in that?"

"Out of curiousity, when was the last time the Weasel's sister wasn't at work? From what I gather, she appears to be a workaholic."

"Last year - Harry took her on a trip and proposed."

"I would say 'how romantic' - except the thought of Pottyhead and the Ginger making love is disgusting," Draco commented conversationally.

"Not as terrifying as the idea of a slimy ferret in bed," she rolled her eyes. "Come in and sit down - maybe if we're seated professionally, this conversation might be slightly more civilized. Although Merlin knows that with you, nothing ever is."

Settling down in one of Hermione's plush chairs, he scooted it behind her desk.

"You're invading my personal space," she began.

"I'm used to this side of the desk, not that." His tone made it clear that it was useless to argue. Drumming his fingers on the mahogany wood, he restarted their discussion. "So, last year, when they were both gone, were you this much of a mess?"

"I should have been."

"Should have been? What is that supposed to mean?" He'd done his little bit of research - secretly, of course - and anticipated her answer. He was not disappointed.

"It was the last time I went Dark wizard catching, and it was nearly a fiasco."

"Nearly? I heard otherwise."

"Malfoy, the only person besides me who knows exactly what happened is Dolohov. And unless you've had contact with him, stop acting like you know some great secret."

"So there is a great secret. Something happened that the Ministry doesn't know about - which isn't what you told me earlier." Draco was triumphant. His day was getting better and better - Hermione's was getting worse and worse.

"Yes, there was a conversation," she muddled, quickly covering up the truth with a white lie. "That may not have been fully disclosed to the officials. But it was insignificant to them."

He knew she was lying, but he didn't want to press his luck any further. Instead, he accepted the falsehood, coughed, and presented a file of paperwork on her desk.

"You're done." The disbelief seeped - no, _poured _out of her face, her voice, her body language.

Draco laughed. "Things go faster when you have help," he winked.

"Help?" Hermione was outraged.

He quickly cut her off before she began the impending rant, though, by muttering _Expecto Patronum_, and producing a silvery ferret that sat on the desk, head held high. With another wave of his wand, the patronus slunk over to Hermione's quill stand, selected a peacock feather and an ink bottle, and began to write words on the top of the file:

_Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare_

Hermione was even more confused. "How-"

"You dropped a button from your bag last week, and I figured this was what all the research led to."

She stared at the patronus, incredulous. "Honestly - I never would have thought of that. I didn't even know patronuses could..."

He appreciated the compliment thoroughly. It wasn't often Hermione Granger told someone they had thought of something she hadn't. It wasn't often someone _did_ think of something Hermione Granger hadn't. For some reason, her praise buoyed him higher than he expected - higher even than the scores of women who told him how attractive he was.

The contrast bothered him, lingering in his mind long after he'd left her poring over his work in her office, long after he'd arrived home to Astoria, long after he'd gone to bed. He lay awake, his arm around his sleeping girlfriend, wondering why he suddenly cared about impressing Granger. Restless, he disentangled himself from Astoria's embrace, and, sitting down in the library, picked up the book she'd been reading when he got home. _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_ - Dangerous Liaisons. Ah, French. It had been a while since he'd had the chance to indulge in his second language. He read the back cover, slightly taken aback at the plot's apparent lack of morality. Flipping through its pages, his eyes landed on one specific line, one quote that seemed to answer his question.

_"Why do you suppose we only feel compelled to chase the ones who run away?"_

That was it. She ran away - played hard-to-get. He realized that all the women he had interacted with - besides his mother - were the complete opposite of Granger. This was followed by another tidal wave of understanding - that was what made him different, too. He was Slytherin's prince, Malfoy heir - not like Weasley, who had no class whatsoever. Looking back towards the bedroom, he recalled how desperate Astoria had been for him - and he had chalked it up to the fact that he was just that attractive. Now, her affection held little interest for him. It meant nothing, just another woman's throwing herself around on his account. Compared to Hermione, she was no more than Pansy Parkinson or Lavender Brown.

_Draco_, he chided himself. _Think of what you're about to do. It's 2 am, and you're going to regret this in the morning. _With that firm hand guiding him back to bed, he fell asleep still thinking that getting Granger to care for him - now _that_ would be an accomplishment worthy of a Malfoy. Was he up for the challenge?

The next morning, he awoke to a soft kiss from his girlfriend as she propped herself up to watch him while he slept. At least, she claimed to be watching. Evidently she couldn't refrain from a little touch, though. He half-smiled at her, not fully remembering last night's mental sojourn. It came back to him in a flash, and he made to get up, dissatisfied with things, and intending to change them.

Astoria blocked his path. "You said you _don't _have to go to the Ministry until lunch today. We have an entire morning in front of us," she smiled suggestively.

Yesterday, Draco would have found the prospect of a morning in bed with his girlfriend appealing - now, it was simply irritating. Breathing, he calmed himself down, trying his hardest not to do something rash he would regret later. He submitted for a while to her caresses, half-heartedly holding her, but when her hands began to probe, he broke free, saying he was starving and wanted some breakfast.

Without changing her position, or even turning her head, Astoria snapped once, and the house elf appeared at Draco's bedroom door.

"Yes, miss?" it squeaked tremulously.

"Breakfast, in bed. You know what he likes," she commanded simply.

Draco groaned at the sight of the house elf scurrying off to obey her orders. _House elves_... it made him think of Granger. Which led to... somewhere he didn't want to go. Blast it, why couldn't he be happy with Astoria? Why was it always about being better and playing hard to get?

"Look, Astoria, love," he added the last word on the end, just to soften things. "I'll send up food for you. You relax - I know I don't have to go in until lunch, but that mu- but Granger is going to give me hell today, and I need to be fully prepared."

She sighed. "Fine. Go. Do what you need to, but - Draco, I _miss _you. Don't forget me, please."

He cocked an eyebrow as he left the room. Whiny Astoria. Wonderful. What was she, Pansy? Honestly, the nerve of some people.

Shut up in his magnificent, oak-paneled study, Draco finally had time to really think. With his mind straight, not warped and twisted like it is in the wee sma's. Something was definitely bothering him. What was it? He tried to define the truth without hurting his ego too much - he was, after all, the Malfoy heir - and eventually came to a decision. Last night, what he had thought about Granger being elusive - that was true, every bit of it. She put him to shame, really, he winced. And Weasley was right - they had the power now, not him. So it was twice as important that he got around to restoring his name. Of course, the first step in returning Malfoy dignity to its proper place was getting out of probation. But how? Granger wasn't falling for his standard lean-her-up-against-a-bookshelf-suggestively tricks. No, he'd have to give as good as he got, match her in _everything_, floor her. It was war, whether she knew it or not.

The sound of Astoria's slipper clad feet coming down the stairway roused him from his reverie. Ah, yes. _Astoria._ What to do about her? Drumming his fingers on the desk, Draco knew she'd have to go, eventually. If all his efforts were to center around another woman, there would be too many issues at home - even if those efforts weren't romantic. He convinced himself that it wasn't because Astoria was a two-bit whore after his money, compared to Granger. Or because Granger's - well, her genius - put every other woman to shame. In any case, he _wasn't _compelled to chase Granger, even if she did play hard-to-get.

* * *

><p>Hermione hummed softly along with her radio, having set it to WWN's classical music station. It was anchored by a nearly-ancient warlock with a melodic and endearing Irish accent. She infinitely preferred symphonies to screeches and slams like the Weird Sisters, what Ron and Ginny preferred. Come to think of it, most of the witches and wizards anywhere close to her age would choose that. She was left behind when it came to pop culture - as Ron aptly pointed out a few months before the break-up, she hid her nose within the pages of a book too much to see anything going on around her. For all his faults, he did speak the truth sometimes. She hadn't been very - well, affectionate - towards him. Maybe she ought to have gone back, tried again - but an unbidden image of a tipsy Lavender giggled and stumbled its way into her head, and she shook herself free of the notion. No, no, no. Hermione Granger was just going to have to do this on her own. She firmly stood by what she had told Ginny - that only someone as involved as she had been in the war would be able to understand her. Her love was too precious for anyone else.<p>

She could hear the sounds of her coworkers going to lunch, and she knew she ought to, but her thoughts had taken a rather morose turn, depriving her of any appetite at the moment. She'd go down lat- oh wait, Draco was coming today. _Merlin, I nearly forgot. _Cringing and foreseeing a storm brewing in the form of S.P.E.W. discussions, she decided that this was going to be another terrible day.

And at that most opportune moment, Draco knocked on her door. He, too, hadn't eaten - feeling slightly nervous about this meeting after his recent decision to wage war on his schooltime enemy. Only this time he'd be slightly less... below the belt about it. More professional, that was it.

Hermione smoothed down her robes, forgetting to turn off her radio as she got up to open the door. "Oh, er, Malfoy. Come in, do. Actually, no - wait," she tripped over her words. "Let's go - somewhere else. Library?"

He looked confused, but acquiesced, and stepped out the door just after entering. "Er- any particular reason?" _Er? And I had sworn to floor her, too. Blast it, Draco. Smooth, smooth._

"Well, to be honest- I didn't want you sitting behind my desk," she acknowledged bluntly, looking up at him. "And I foresee that our conversation isn't going to be an easy one, so leaving the privacy of my office ensures that we stay civil."

Raising an eyebrow, he said nothing, the hints of a smirk playing around his lips. Granger did beat all when it came to being frank. He waited for her to cast the necessary wards around her office, and the two of them set off down the hall.

Realizing she wasn't going to start the conversation yet, and feeling ever-so-slightly awkward, Draco began it for her. "So, sp-S. P. E. W." He caught himself, realizing what the acronym would sound like read out as a word. _Spew. Like one spews garbage. Should catch her attention - maybe?_

It did. Hermione cast a slightly surprised look up towards the blonde - he was the first person to say it correctly. For a moment, she contemplated telling him that, but decided it would put just a little too much power in his hands.

"Yes," she replied, firmly. "S. P. E. W. What about it?"

"You know, I was kind of wondering - it's obvious what you want - but do you know if the elves want it, too?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course they do! Who _wouldn't _want freedom?"

They approached the lift. Draco took a breath, ready for his argument to go completely over her head. He opened his mouth to speak, and the fear that she wouldn't understand overtook him. He shut it quickly, coming up with a different argument as they shuttled around the Ministry.

"They're a different species. How do you know what they think?"

"My bloody cat likes to be on his own all the time. Every animal I've seen likes independence. I mean, look at the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest!"

The door opened, and the pair stepped out into the library.

He decided to give his original argument a try, see how well she took it. "That's the thing. You've been raised on ideals of independence and freedom. They haven't. It's like - I've been raised with an attitude of pureblood superiority - and you haven't. We're different."

"That's not a valid argument," Hermione said quietly, looking at her feet. Something in her had just plummeted, and she wasn't sure what.

Draco sensed the disappointment in her voice and felt a little twinge of his own - guilt? For what? Asserting that he still thought he was better than her? Did he? _This is not the time to mull over your own issues,_ he chided himself. "No, you're right. It's not. Let me put it differently. You've been brought up in a society where taking care of yourself first is all-important. You don't have any siblings, do you?"

"No - why - how? Huh?"

He laughed a little. "If you had, say, an older brother, it'd be easier for you to see what I'm talking about. Protective instinct. Your parents have brought you up to be completely independent; they haven't shielded you from anything."

"Why should they? I can function on my own."

"Exactly - a house-elf can't."

"Why ever not? Look at Dobby!"

Draco grimaced. "Dobby was... an anomaly."

"But why, though? They should all have his opportunities!"

"His opportunity for what? True, he gained freedom, but at what cost? House-elves are content in their positions because there's someone - something, really, a system, magic - that takes care of them."

"Of course. It _protects _them. By making them smash their heads against lamps when they disobey."

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you - it's only logical."

"It's not about logic - it's a question of compassion. Which I don't expect you to have. There's no point in this." Upset, she turned to leave.

"_Hermione _- wait!" Draco grabbed her hand, as she turned around sharply.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"Sorry, sorry, geez," he dropped her hand. "No need to be so touchy." _Touchy? You were the one who grabbed her hand, idiot. _

"No, not that - you - you - never mind, fine. Let's sit."

Draco hesitated for a moment, and a flash of recognition passed across his face as he followed her to a table. It was the first time he'd called her Hermione.

"Talk. Explain. And then I'll counter."

He swore inwardly. Him talking first - that put her in power. Nevertheless, he began. "There are two ideals here. Freedom. And protection. Agreed?"

She nodded, a signal for him to keep going. So far, so good.

"_You_ value freedom over protection - yes?"

"Of course - why-"

He held up a hand to stop her. "Let me finish. Someone else may value protection over freedom. Whether or not you understand why. I hope someday, you will."

"Only because you'd like to see me powerless and depending on someone to save me."

"Partially," he grinned. "But also because I think you're capable of balancing both of those ideals, and not letting one consume your life, which you're kind of doing right now."

"Malfoy, what on earth are you on about?"

"Only that you seem absolutely determined to do everything and solve every problem in the world on your own, and I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I'm perfectly capable - just because the three of us aren't united all the time anymore doesn't mean I can't-"

"Granger, _calm down._ We both know you were the brains in that operation, and that Harry would have been dead by the end of first year if it wasn't for you. Unfortunately, you chose his side, and so he lived."

She knew he was kidding, and she let it go with a smug smile, mollified.

_This is going rather well, actually._ "This isn't about you, anyway. It's about house elves. Who value protection over freedom. Now - who are you to deny them that?" He'd successfully turned the tables on her. _Score._

Hermione looked outraged. "Me? _I'm _denying them rights? _I'm _restricting them? Really?"

"Yes, you are," he stated simply. "I know what you're saying - that the current laws offer them no freedom of choice whatsoever. But you're intending to turn them all out of their homes, force them out of their current situations, throw them out to fend for themselves." He was very pleased with the picture he'd painted - both of pitiful house elves and of a cruel Granger.

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "I get it. But each house-elf gets to _choose_. Independently, without their owners there, in front of an unbiased Ministry official."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Draco replied truthfully. It really was quite decent. Hermione's do-gooder nature would be satisfied, and all the house elves would most likely stay put. "Just watch that it doesn't get too bureaucratic."

"You're telling _me?_" She rolled her eyes. "Look, I know this is a weird statement, coming from me, of all people, but - something needs to be done about the Ministry. And I honestly think the best person to do that is you."

"Me?" This was not expected. Not at all.

"The paper trail is _endless_. How did Voldemort manage to keep things so efficient? Just curious. Maybe you could implement -"

"Fear." Did they really have to have this conversation?

"Right. I should have realized that." Thinking for a moment, she added - "Although, maybe a little dose of fear isn't a bad thing every once in a while? What did he do to instill fear? Besides killing people, of course."

"You - don't - you don't want to know," Draco shut her down shakily. "Those - it - just no. No one should ever, _ever_ keep order the way he did." Had he really thought things were going well just a few minutes back?

"Draco," Hermione said softly, suddenly aware of the pain she was causing him. "Have you ever told anyone what - what happened? What you went through?"

"Have you ever told anyone about what _really _happened with Dolohov?" The question was more forceful, more prying than he'd intended. Then it hit him. _She'd called him Draco. _"Who would I have told, Hermione? Pansy? Astoria? My parents? My aunt?" He laughed bitterly. "I think you and I both have issues with being protected. I've been sheltered my whole life, by my parents - and I didn't mind so much, obviously. And then Voldemort just came along and changed everything."

"And now you're like me - you won't take help from anyone, will you?"

He shook his head. "You're not the only one with that problem."

Neither of them said anything for a while. Then - "Ironic, isn't it? We're discussing house elf protection when we can't seem to handle that protection ourselves."

Hermione nodded, absent-mindedly thinking of a 16 year old Draco suffering under the clutches of Voldemort.

Coughing, he brought her back to earth, and they both began sketching out - in legal terms - what Hermione's plan would mean. Neither of them put their hearts into it, though - both were clearly distracted.

Draco, for his part, would likely never have been so compliant if he had been focused on the tasks at hand. As it was, his mind was taking a trip down memory lane, and all he could do to keep it from going there was to work with Hermione and keep things going smoothly. The more he did what she wanted, the faster he'd get out of probation. Trying his hardest to concentrate on that idea, he wrote and crossed out and inked over as Hermione dictated.

She, on the other hand, tried to focus on his slender, pale fingers - not the rough, meaty ones of Dolohov. Still, it was difficult for her, too, not to let her mind wander. The faster they figured this out, the sooner she could be in her office, to handle this on her own. She _always _handled things on her own, whatever any Malfoy had to say about it.


	6. Chapter VI: Romantic Overtures

**Author's Note: **I should probably have a disclaimer (but isn't that given, since it _is_ a fanfiction site?), so here it is: I own not the characters in Harry Potter or any such work... [isn't that a given, though?]

As for the story itself - Draco/Astoria developments! And Draco's inner romantic comes out ;) Happy reading!

* * *

><p>Hermione returned to her office, a finished proposition – well, a rough draft, at the very least – in her hands. Sitting down at her desk, she ignored the pile of paperwork to her left. Her radio was still going. The music soothed her – it always did – and she tried to come to terms with herself.<p>

What was she so worked up over? It didn't make sense – she hadn't even been really doing anything upsetting besides talking to Draco Malfoy. _His _words hadn't upset her for the past nearly ten years – so why were they having such an impact now? She reflected on their conversation – granted, they'd touched on some awkward points (Dolohov, Voldemort) – but it hadn't been _upsetting_. Yet she was drained, completely. Thoughtfully looking out towards the door, she slowly realized that she'd never been able to have a discussion like that before, with anyone. Harry and Ron – and even Ginny – they just dealt with her, accepted the fact that they weren't on her level intellectually. She remembered when Ron and Harry had their first taste of S. P. E. W. back in fourth year, and laughed. Ron had thought she was crazy; Harry had just signed up because she was his friend. Neither of them wanted to discuss the ideology – neither of them _could_. And she knew that, so she'd never let them. All the thinking was done by her, as long as all the support came from them.

Now, for the first time in her life, Hermione had run into a fellow intellectual. She had no clue how to handle it. Part of her wanted to sit and talk for hours and hours about everything she'd wanted to talk about with Ron and Harry – but most of her knew that a) this was Draco Malfoy, whom she'd hated for _years_, and b) this was Draco Malfoy, who'd hated her for _years_. They weren't likely to start getting chummy now. She sighed. Not to mention, he would _never _admit to being an intellectual. He was just too arrogant for that.

* * *

><p>Draco was humming as he walked in the door. Astoria looked up at him, parchment in one hand, camera in the other. Smiling, she greeted him. "I'll be done in a moment, love. I just have to get this story in as soon as possible." She signed the paper with a flourish, folded it up, and quickly tied it to her owl, directing it to her boss at the Daily Prophet's office.<p>

Before joining her on the couch, Draco walked over to the Malfoy family fireplace – a large, regal, gleaming affair – and brought out the old radio, dusty with months of neglect. He was going to figure out just what it was he was humming – it had been stuck in his head all day.

"Radio? That's unusual," Astoria commented.

"I've had this blasted song stuck in my head since – _oh_." And it hit him where he'd heard it. Granger's office, when she'd left her radio on. He had meant to tell her, but he'd been too preoccupied with the "er" that had slipped out of his mouth. _I'm sure she noticed it eventually. _

It took him a good two or three minutes of fiddling with the dial until he found the classical station he was looking for – the anchor was speaking. His eyebrow went up – he _sounded_ like someone Hermione Granger would like. Old, barmy, and Irish, to boot.

Astoria rolled her eyes as a symphony emanated from the little box. Picking up her wand, she twisted the dial until it came to rest at a station blasting the Weird Sisters. "That's probably what you're looking for. It's the only decent station on WWN anymore."

Draco frowned, but didn't say anything. This was definitely _not_ what he was looking for. _Call me a generation too old, call me a freak, call me whatever you like_, he thought to himself. _But despite what I put on – I'm an intellectual. Does she not get that?_ The frustration with Astoria returned, and he sat as far away from her as he could, watching her bop her head to the music. Seeing that he was watching her, she got up and began to dance, throwing her body around in ways that – _Is that supposed to be attractive? _

Truth be told, any other male would probably have found Astoria's violent hip-shaking techniques quite – er – endearing – and even females would have to admit she was a pretty sexy dancer. As it was, however, Draco had no patience for her. Trying to figure out a way to tactfully end the spectacle before his eyes, he used his wand to switch the station back to classical. Raising himself, he proffered his hand to her, not bothering to ask. _I probably ought to have gone the whole way and kneeled, _he reprimanded himself. This gallant romantic act wasn't suiting him. _Then again, maybe it would, if I had someone who would appreciate it._

Astoria's hands fumbled around, and she admitted to herself that she'd much rather just throw them around his neck with abandon and snog him until they both saw stars. He was, though, trying to be romantic – and his attempts _were _endearing. So she tried her hardest – not to step on his patent leather shoes, not to get out of rhythm, not to do what she shouldn't.

It was obvious she didn't know what she was doing. As soon as the music ended, Draco pulled away swiftly, putting them both out of their misery, and shutting off the radio.

"Well," his girlfriend grinned. "That was _quite _romantic, but I can think of something even more-"

"Astoria, no." His voice was deathly quiet, his eyes averted. He couldn't look her in the – yes, yes, he could. He was a Malfoy. She was nothing. They all were – even Granger – nothing. His steel gray eyes met her taunting, azure ones, his expression unmistakable. It sobered her. "Look, I- I can't."

"You can't what, Draco?" She was gentle, drawing near, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Do this. We aren't working. It's not right. It's not me."

"You're breaking up with me." They both knew that she had known that the moment he shut off the radio. Why else would she have made such a desperate attempt to shag him, if not to convince him to stay?

"Yes," he said heavily.

"Do I get to know why?"

The way she'd phrased the question put her at a disadvantage. The reply, therefore, was her own fault. "No, you don't."

"Why?"

"Because you're a Greengrass, and I'm a Malfoy, and that's just how things work."

"Your mother?"

"I know my mother wants us to get married. And I know that once she gets back, she'll be upset to find that I've kicked you out. Be happy – I'm not going to involve you in her wrath at all. You'll get out unscathed."

"I'm supposed to be _happy_ that you're kicking me out of this house? Of your life? Of _my_ life?"

He frowned. "Kicking you out of your own life would mean I killed you."

"No, Draco. _You_ are my life. You're everything to me! You can't just – toss me aside like I don't matter."

"Can't I? Whyever not?" Sauciness began to creep into his voice. _This is actually somewhat entertaining_.

"Because – because – oh, I hate you! You heartless, cruel, cruel man!" she ran out, sobbing, but not before he had a chance to reply.

"Thank you, thank you." His eyes flashed as he mock bowed, watching her flee to her room. "Squeaky!" he summoned, quietly – she could not be allowed to hear what he was going to say.

"Yes master?" the obedient house elf replied, showing up right in front of him.

"Go watch Miss Astoria. She should be packing her things – let me know if she's doing anything dangerous. And _don't let her see you_. Understood?"

The creature nodded, and even managed to silence the _snap!_ when it disappeared.

Draco had no interest in dealing with her again, especially not in her current state, so he retreated behind magnificent oak-paneled doors, behind an equally majestic desk – and drummed his fingers on the wood, completely and utterly bored. For the greater part of his life, his parents had severely disciplined him – and sheltered him, to an equal degree. And if it wasn't them interfering, it was Dumbledore. Or Harry and his sidekick. Or Granger. Granger had never really been Harry's sidekick, Draco decided. She was a class all her own. Anyhow, once that school nonsense was through, it was Voldemort – or Bellatrix – who had him at their command. Those memories returned, unwelcome stormy waves crashing onto a sandy, carefree beach. He quickly moved on in his list. Once they were done conveniently done away with, it was his mother again – and the Ministry – and she had saddled him with Astoria. For the past two years, his freedom had been stolen by his girlfriend. _Ex-girlfriend. _Of course, he had taken on the burden willingly enough, he supposed. She was more attractive than, say, Granger. And she had more to her, in that way, too. _In that way? You mean in bed. Just say it_, he grinned wickedly. Better in bed than Granger – not, of course, that he would know what Granger was like – but he could tell. Then again, she was a little bit more decent than he had at first expected – though he'd never admit that. What if his expectations were below the mark this time, too? The womanizer in Draco began to wonder exactly what Hermione would be like, when all that pent-up passion was released. And then he remembered the way she obsessed over books, and realized that some people had different ways of expressing themselves. Still, he couldn't help but ask himself if the Weasel had even let her stay a virgin. _Does it matter? Why am I even thinking this? If I wanted sex – well, Astoria's still here. But that's not what I'm after._With that, he promptly ended his internal conversation – he'd been hearing far too many voices in his head lately.


	7. Chapter VII: Parties, Plans, Proposals

**Author's Note: **Things get complicated? Hermione isn't as foolish as Draco assumes? And - gasp! - dates? parties? What? Read on, brave stranger.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger had a lot of mail. Thumbing through it, she came across a sheet of parchment that <em>didn't<em> look like a bill or some muggle relative's inconsequential letter. Quickly scanning its contents as she sat down, an idea began to take shape in her head.

It was an invitation to Percy's 26th birthday gala, and a celebration of his first anniversary with Audrey, his wife. Knowing Percy, most of the guests would be Ministry higher-ups – or the Order. Not that those two groups were that different. Hermione looked at the rough draft of the proposition thoughtfully, realizing that this might be the opportunity to start hinting at it to people. _It's time to get this thing in motion._

She pictured the scene in her head now – surrounded by all manner of Ministry legislators, hanging on her every word as they realized what a brilliant idea she had, and that this was really something that the wizarding world needed. Draco Malfoy did persist on hanging around, at the outskirts of things, though. She frowned. He _had_ done a lot – most of – the work, and what she had done couldn't have happened without his input anyway. Still, she couldn't see him deigning to attend a Weasley function, even if he were actually invited. Unless… her eyes flashed deviously. She had a plan.

* * *

><p>The next day, Draco arrived at her office at 10, just as she had told him to. He didn't bother knocking, and she didn't really mind, though she raised an eyebrow as he settled himself down next to her. She didn't greet him immediately, preoccupying herself with a calendar and a certain invitation instead.<p>

Curious, he peered over her shoulder. "Percy Weasley's birthday gala? Oh my, Granger. I'm sure it'll be the social event of the season." He sniffed.

"Especially since I'm going to be starting the campaign for this." She waved the parchment in his face, pleased at his slightly shocked expression.

"That was more my work than yours! You're not going around and talking it up to every good-for-nothing Weasley relative as your own!"

"I'll be sure to give credit where it's due," she rolled her eyes. "Of course, I can't guarantee that they'll believe me if I said Draco Malfoy helped write house elf legislation."

He frowned. "There's no need to drag my name into it. You could just say – you had help. They don't need to know I'm being forced to do your grunt work."

"No, they don't – but most of them do know you're on probation, and that I'm in charge of it. They'll be asking how you're doing."

"In that case, bring my name into it everywhere you can," he replied, exasperated. _Is this really what's going to have to happen for me to get out of probation? Granger talking me up at some Weasley party? This is so pointless._

"Goes back to the point that they won't believe me."

"Well, unfortunately or not, I'm not invited to this _birthday gala_ to prove that I've had that change of heart they're after."

"Are you saying that you would have gone if you were?" She was suddenly curious, more interested than before.

He shrugged. "All I can say is this: Malfoys _never_ gatecrash. Especially not at a Weasley event." His nose wrinkled.

"Figured," she sighed. It was time to play her final card. "I'm going, in any case, once I figure out who to take. I was thinking – maybe Zacharias Smith? Or Blaise. Yes, better Blaise than Zach. I'll have to ask him about it…" she trailed off, talking more to herself than Malfoy, it seemed.

Malfoy seethed inwardly. This was hard-to-get Granger – who didn't fall for his tripping himself on top of her, or nearly pushing her into a bookcase – and she was going to take _Blaise_ _Zabini_ somewhere when she had Draco sitting right in front of her face. He'd even pretty much said that he would have gone had he been invited, goddamnit. What more did she want?

"Or maybe I'll just let him ask. God knows he's been wanting to for a while." Hermione was still talking, presumably about Blaise. Stupid, filthy, traitorous Blaise. He'd turncoated as soon as Voldemort fell, and from what Draco could tell, was falling flat on his face for anyone who'd back up his story – that he was on Harry's side, after all. _He's putting the moves on Granger_, Malfoy decided. _And it's working._ This wasn't going to fly.

Hermione, of course, had no intention of falling for Blaise – or anyone, for that matter – and was fully aware that the attractive former Slytherin was, in fact, "putting the moves" on her. She also had no intention of going anywhere with him, and was waiting with bated breath to see if her plan had worked – or if she'd be caught in her bluff. Malfoy, however, didn't say anything – but the look on his face told her more than she needed to know. She could afford to wait a while. Smugly moving aside the calendar and invitation, she left the proposition on the desk, looking at Malfoy expectantly.

"Yes, we wrote it. What now?" His voice was slightly grumpy, and the scowl on his face was _very_ pronounced.

She smiled sweetly. "I figured we could read it over a second time, just to edit it and make changes."

He looked at her incredulously. "Anything I do, I do right the first time through."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Perfect." The sarcasm dripped from her every word as she bent over the paper, reading it out loud.

Sighing, he submitted to the task, and questioned – crossed out – rewrote – as they edited their rough draft. He felt like a schoolboy again. _So. Frustrating._

Once they were finished, he set his quill down, and leaned back, placing his hand on top of hers for a few moments longer than necessary. She averted her eyes and quickly pulled away, twirling her hair. Though he couldn't see her face, he assumed she was blushing, too. _Good. I still have some power over her. _Pleased with himself, he stretched, getting up.

Hermione caught on as soon as she felt the light pressure of his hand on hers. She grinned as she turned away, playing with her hair , and hoping he couldn't see right through her nervous act. _Best to let him think he has some power over you – if he's not confident of that, he'll never ask._ She looked up at him as he stood. "Will you recopy this by tomorrow, please?"

He accepted the parchment without a word, and turned to go, not noticing Hermione's expectant stare that was trying to burn its way through him. Draco turned around, running his hand through his hair in an attempt to appear casual, and asked, just as offhandedly, "What do you think you'll be wearing to this – birthday gala?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Hermione replied, concealing delight at her success. "Why?" she asked innocently.

"Just figured that if you're going to be my date, you should look the part."

"Your date? What on earth can you mean?"

"You heard me, Granger. I'm your date. Don't bother arguing." And with that, he cockily shut the door, leaving a very pleased Granger behind.

She'd convinced Draco she was starting to fall for him – and now he was going to be there, in front of all those important people. Oh, revenge tasted absolutely delicious. She'd get credit for his change of heart, of course. Then, there was the legislation itself – between the two of them, they'd sell it to everyone before the cake was cut. And, she smiled slyly, Draco Malfoy, for all his numerous faults, was _much_ more attractive – not to mention suave – than any date Lavender Brown could even dream of conjuring up. Their appearance together would make _quite _the scandal – and good or bad, attention is attention. She had a bill to advocate, and attention was, of course, exactly what she needed.

Hermione had never been so excited about a birthday party. Maybe this week wasn't turning out to be so bad, after all.


	8. Chapter VIII: Surprises, Surprises

**Author's note: **Warning – slightly fluffy. They're becoming friends, superficially, sort of. What do you think? Read & review, lovelies! :)

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><p>The door opened, and Draco barged in – well, not barged. He was too graceful for that, Hermione decided. In any case, his entrance was unannounced and unexpected. She hadn't told him to – oh. He held out the recopied proposal, laying it on her desk. Neither of them said anything, but he didn't leave, just stood there, arms folded across his chest.<p>

"Can I help you?" she asked, uncertainly.

He was startled out of some reverie. "Oh – er – yes, actually. I was – just…" He'd been daydreaming about what Hermione should wear to this party.

"Yes?"

"I probably should have asked yesterday," he said, smoothing things over. "But when exactly is this party? And where?"

"August 22nd. At the Burrow." She smirked. "To think of you deigning to enter the Weasley's property. Ha!"

Draco rolled his eyes – where was the blushing, maidenly Hermione of yesterday? Ah well. He knew this one better, at any rate. "You and I are making a shopping excursion before then," he announced.

"Huh?" This was unexpected.

"If we're going together, you had better look the part. I'm not having any of this shabby dressing business," he waved his wand generally in Hermione's direction, gesturing at her plain, modest clothing that was unflattering, to say the least.

She looked slightly offended. "I do know how to dress myself. And dress _well_, too. That is, when my date is worthy of it," she added.

"Oh, really? And who constitutes a 'worthy' date? Not the Weasel, I hope."

"Of course not. I was referring to one Viktor Krum, you know."

Images of Hermione at the Yule Ball in their fourth year flooded Draco's head. He remembered thinking then that she looked – well, beautiful, frankly, though he wouldn't have admitted that to anyone, especially not then.

"Viktor Krum," he sniffed, "can shine the scum of my shoes. I'm more than twice as wealthy as he is. And _far_ more good-looking."

"And just as grouchy," Hermione countered. "Not to mention, Viktor wasn't nearly as unpleasantly cocky as you are, despite the number of females absolutely crazy for him."

_Ouch. Three accusations in one shot? Grouchy, cocky, and not as popular with the ladies? _Draco's pride couldn't take this barrage of insults. He _was _a worthy date, far more than any blasted world-famous Quidditch player. He would prove it, too, if it was the last thing he did. "I'm only grouchy and cocky when my conversation partner isn't worth my efforts," he barked back.

"You're capable of being a gentleman? This is news. I don't believe it, personally."

"I'll have to prove it, then, won't I? I'm picking you up tomorrow, and we are going to Twilfitt and Tattings. _Don't. Argue._" He turned to leave, and something suddenly occurred to Hermione.

"Draco, wait!" She chased him out into the hall, beckoning him back to her door. Looking both ways to make sure no one was within earshot, she quietly asked him about Astoria. "I'm single; you're not. Won't she mind that you're taking me to parties and shopping and such – I mean," she blinked. "It's not like we're – actually – going as dates or anything, but-"

"If it's purely professional," Draco said, coming a step closer, "then why should she mind at all?"

Hermione bit her lip, not sure what to say. It _was_, after all, purely professional – but did that mean he wanted everyone to know that? Or were they going to act like – oh, this was more complicated than she'd thought.

Sensing her confusion, he cleared her doubts quickly. "I- I dumped her, anyway."

"When?" This, too, was unexpected. Draco was full of surprises today, it seemed. "Haven't you guys been together for two-"

"Yeah, two years. It – she – I don't know, it just wasn't working." He bit his lip now, not sure what to say. The truth was – well, he'd dumped Astoria because she wasn't good enough. And though he was loath to admit it, "good enough" had somehow or other come to mean the witch standing six inches away from him. _You dumped Astoria because she's not Granger. _The realization washed over him, and suddenly, he was scared. Of the petite brown-haired woman watching him with the most peculiar expression.

"Are you okay?" She was referring to his state of mind, post break-up, but the paranoid Draco imagined that she saw everything clearly written in his face.

"No – yes – it's not what you think – I don't even-" he panicked, and his mind went into overdrive. _Smooth_, he reminded himself. _Breathe._

"We can – talk about it tomorrow, if you'd like?" Hermione was more confused than compassionate, but she still managed to make her voice gentle.

"Eh, I'll be fine," he shrugged, recovering his composure. "You know me well enough to know that I really don't care that much."

She laughed. "Stay that way – it's better, for your own sake." _And also because I'm safe. Merlin knows what would happen if the two of us actually started to – care for each other?_

* * *

><p>Merlin knows what Draco went through that night, wrestling with his newfound comprehension. Granger had become his model of an ideal woman – and he wouldn't be happy unless he found someone just like her. Or changed his ideals. And that was harder than he'd like to admit. Malfoys don't change easily. It was hard enough coming to terms with the fact that she was – perfect? He didn't know what to call it.<p>

* * *

><p>He was, however, a Malfoy, and didn't let any of his inner struggles show on his face the next day when he met Hermione just inside the Ministry lobby. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into sidelong apparition, landing them both, slightly shaken, in front of the door to Twilfitt and Tattings. It was only after they entered that he remembered he still held her hand, and quickly let go of it. Hermione read more in that gesture than he realized, though, and smiled to herself, deciding this was a welcome development – it gave her more power over him, of course. There wasn't any other reason to like it.<p>

The tailor looked at the flustered pair curiously, waiting on their requests.

"Oh, a – er – dress. For me." Hermione recovered first.

His chin jutted out as he nodded vigorously. "What color? Length? Style?"

"Show us what's in fashion, and then I'll tell you what I had in mind," Draco drawled.

"And then we'll look at _my_ choices," Hermione added, glaring at him.

The tailor bounced off, bringing back a variety of short, summery, bright colored dresses.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "They look far too tight to actually fit on anyone."

"It's called a sheath, idiot." Turning to the tailor, she kindly asked if she could try on the light pink one. The two disappeared as he led her to the fitting rooms.

Draco tapped his foot impatiently, looking around at the robes. Maybe he'd make her buy new office clothes while he was at it. After all, he was under probation – and he'd been seeing her every day – she might as well be soft on the eyes. He ran his eyes over the different styles of professional wear when –

"Well? What do you think?"

He turned around, robes billowing out behind him, as he faced her. The tailor had conveniently disappeared, leaving the two surrounded by mannequins and racks, shielded from view. Draco didn't say anything at first, letting his eyes rove over her body, curves highlighted by the tight-fitting garment. She was skinnier than she seemed under those loose, unflattering clothes she usually wore – and more well-endowed in other places.

Hermione snapped in front of his face. "Oi! Stop checking me out, and tell me how the dress looks."

He cursed both at himself, and her bluntness, then replied, "It's too-"

"Revealing," she completed. "Right?"

Nodding, he turned back to the office clothes. "What do you think of this, just out of curiosity?"

"I'm _not_ wearing that to Percy's-"

"Obviously. I meant for dailywear."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"No, you're not, Granger. You know what? I'm paying for it. You need some new clothes. No," he commanded. "Don't argue."

She rolled her eyes as the tailor reappeared.

"It's too revealing," Draco told him. "Something a little less – showy."

"That's not what showy-"

"I _know_ what showy means, Granger. I invented a new meaning for it."

She laughed. "Next thing I know, you'll be inventing a new meaning for mudblood, too, just as an excuse to call me that more often."

"That's not a bad idea. I'll keep it in mind," he smirked. Addressing the tailor, he asked for a periwinkle gown, something light, floaty.

"Someone's been reminiscing over old Yule Ball memories, I take it." It was Hermione's turn to smirk.

Draco was slightly taken aback – that hadn't been his intent; it had just struck him as a color that would suit her – although, thinking about it, that was probably because he had seen it on her in fourth year, and it had made an impression.

Taking advantage of his confusion, Hermione requested the tailor for something else, and he ran off to muster up what he could. By the time Draco had come back down to earth, Hermione was back in the fitting room.

She gathered her unruly hair up in a knot as she exited, returning to where Draco stood.

"This is it," he said simply. The rich purple material sparkled as it fell around her body, gathered up with a rose at her hip. A few tendrils of hair brushed her bare shoulders, and she tucked them behind her ears, suddenly a little self-conscious. She pulled down at the hem, afraid it was a little _too _short for modesty, but stopped when Draco shook his head. "Don't. It's perfect." He was careful not to say what she found herself wanting to hear most – that _she _was beautiful. His compliments were for the dress only, and she was left slightly disappointed.

He paid for both the dress and her new outfit, slapping her hand away when she brought out her purse. "I can be a gentleman – only if you let me," he laughed.

"Oh, so does that mean I'm worthy of seeing this side of you?" Hermione teased.

"Don't question – I might be tempted to take back my decision." Draco was kidding, and they both knew it.

Hermione took both of the wrapped packets as they exited the store, and carefully balancing them, made to apparate home.

"Here," he offered, taking one. "I'll go with you."

"No, it's okay – I can handle it!" She made to take it back, but he held it out of her reach, and she stumbled.

"No, no, Granger. I'm teaching you a lesson – and we know how much you love learning."

"Really. You're teaching me?"

"You need to learn how to take help from other people," he instructed, and linking his arm in with hers, went with her back to her apartment.

"I can take it from here, at least," she said, keeping the door of her building open with her foot, and taking the package from him. He held the door open, wordlessly following her up the stairs, and taking the clothes back from her as she opened her door – both with muggle key, and magic. "Just drop them here, on the couch."

As he made to leave, Hermione called after him. "Wait! I just wanted – well – who knew I'd ever be saying this to you? Thank you," she managed, and on impulse, threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. The gesture was returned half-heartedly.

Pulling away, Draco grimaced. "I'm going to go home and shower, now. Ick. I've been embraced by a mudblood."

Hermione laughed. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"Depends. I'm already doing you one by taking you as my date. And by buying you clothes," he added, as a second thought.

"Yeah, well. Besides that. Don't change. Ever."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual, coming from you."

"It's nice to know some things _don't_ change. Your attitude issues, for instance. I don't know what I would have done this week, if you hadn't distracted me by being so bloody cocky and annoying."

"Let me get this straight – you don't want me to change so that you can go on hating me."

"And laughing about it."

"Good to know."

Hermione laughed and shut the door in his face. Being entertainment for a schoolyard nemesis – was that revenge enough? _Maybe. Maybe not._


	9. Chapter IX: Fakes and Friends

**Author's note: **All-seeing Ginny has returned, and the party looms! Also, touches of Pride & Prejudice, which is also, unfortunately, not mine. Read & review, darlings! :)

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><p>Apparently the shopping excursion and being friendly with Hermione had taken too much out of Draco – he wasn't at her office the whole of the next week. Though she knew there was no need for him to be there, she still kind of regretted that she didn't invent an excuse to see him. Of course, there was no need, per se, for her to see him. It wasn't like she <em>missed<em> him or anything. It was just… well, seeing him meant that the cause of the house elves moved forward, and she missed that. That's all.

Frustrated, she slammed down her quill on the parchment more than once as she copied information about Doris Crawford into a single file. It was getting to be a _very_ boring week – she felt like it had been a month, at least – and it was only Thursday afternoon! She left her office disgruntled, dissatisfied, and determined to do something about it.

Settling down in her pajamas by 6:30, a nice, heavy tome in one hand, and Chinese take-out in the other, Hermione embarked on an evening of what was most likely to cheer her up. The book, however, wasn't very well-written, and she found several flaws in the author's explanations of various types of potions. Rolling her eyes at the incompetency of people in general, she went back to her library – the most well-maintained room in her flat – and reshelved the distasteful work. Waving her chopsticks around, she looked for something else to read, and finally decided that tonight, she was going to read a novel. Not a trashy one, no – that wouldn't be Hermione at all – something classic, timeless, touching – aha! She found it. _Pride and Prejudice._ It was one of her childhood favorites.

Something began nagging her as she read, and so she sped up her pace, as though running away from it. Once she was done, however, there was no ignoring the blasted thing. What was bothering her?

_Darcy should be blond_e.

The simplicity of the statement shocked her. It was true – she'd painted a very different picture of Darcy than usual. He had a much paler, sharper face – was much leaner – and had a _much_ more pronounced smirk. _Oh god_, she groaned. _This is not happening. _

Draco Malfoy as Darcy? Why hadn't she seen the similarities before? It was so obvious – he came from a rich, wealthy, high-class (pureblood) family. She came from a moderate, middle-class (muggle) family that wasn't "good enough" for him. She had never been "good enough," not since they were schoolchildren.

_And that's why he's not Darcy,_ she comforted herself. _If he was, he would have fallen in love with you a long time ago. After all, Darcy was only Darcy because he actually did think Elizabeth was "good enough" for him. There would have been no story if he hadn't. Draco's only… a fake Darcy. Yes, that's it. _

A fake Darcy. She liked the sound of it. He seemed like it – and it _would_ all fit, she grudgingly acknowledged – except neither of them actually cared. _And that's just how it should be._

Her dissatisfaction dissipated – though a small portion of it rested in the back of her mind as she went through the motions at work the next day. Her weekend was just as restless – she flipped channels on her ancient muggle TV til 3 am on Friday night, had breakfast at 2 in the afternoon on Saturday, and did absolutely nothing productive – most un-Hermione-like in all respects.

Sunday brought a welcome surprise, though. A knock at her door – she really couldn't be bothered to get up and open it. Frantic doorbell ringing – for goodness' sake, who was it? Grumpily opening the door – "Ginny! Harry! Oh, you're _back_!" Relief flooded her face, seeped through her voice, filled every pore of her being. She threw her arms around them – and the gesture was returned thoroughly, with no complaints regarding showers or mudbloods.

"We missed you, Hermione." Ginny's smile was warm, sincere – and content.

"You had no business missing _me_ on your honeymoon," Hermione replied, busying herself with their bags and luggage. "Have you not gone home yet?"

"Didn't you hear her?" Harry laughed as he sat down. "She wouldn't hear of going to Grimmauld Place until we'd come here first and checked up on you."

"Checked up on me? What for?"

"Well, the wedding was sort of a disaster, and I didn't get a chance to talk to you-"

"Nonsense. The wedding was everything it should have been – you two were so happy, none of us even thought of being otherwise."

"Right," the redhead grinned wryly, joining her husband where he sat. "If nine months from today, Lavender Brown comes out with a baby because of what happened in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow – then will you see why I needed to check up on you?"

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about," Hermione's haughty look spoke volumes.

"Just be prepared – the drama's going to unfold again this Saturday, at Percy's-"

"Oh, no it won't. Honestly, why are we still discussing my inability to get over Ron? For all you know, I might have…well, moved on."

"After telling me you're going to live up and be a ripe old maid? Fat chance."

"There's no reason I can't bring a date to a party, even if I have no intentions of serious relationships anymore."

"Who are you bringing? Not Blaise, please – that bugger has tried to put the moves on every ex-DA or Order witch anywhere near his age."

"Single or not," Harry added, recalling Ginny's experiences with the man.

"You'll see, don't worry. Anyways, enough about me – how was China? Did you see the Terracotta Army? That emperor petrified an entire army of soldiers to be buried with him, you know. It's fascinating. And the Great Wall? I've heard that the magic is literally emanating from its crevices-"

"I think a honeymoon at the Burrow would have done just as well, for all the sightseeing we did," Harry said, creating an awkward pause.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Always the blunt one, are we, Harry? Or is my brother rubbing off on you?"

He threw his hands up in the air, shrugging.

Hermione laughed and stood up. "Come on, I'll make you some lunch."

Ten minutes later, the not-so-newlyweds were treating themselves to an array of salads and soups and their bushy-haired friend was bustling around the kitchen, setting up for more food.

"Hermione," Ginny laughed. "Just sit down. It's _you _we want – not your food, delicious though it is."

His mouth too full for words, Harry simply nodded in agreement – either at her request for Hermione to sit, or at the compliments regarding the cooking (or both).

"So how's Draco been keeping up?" she asked, as Hermione _finally_ seated herself.

"Oh – er – quite well," she managed, flustered.

"You know, probation was only half of it. He's supposed to give us names."

"I'll talk to him about it, once we're through with the… er – legislation we're working on."

Harry balked. "Malfoy's writing laws?"

"For the protection of house elves," Hermione assured him. "Really, it's not – well, I don't know what you think it is – but it's probably not what it seems like."

"He's changed _that_ much?"

"No – he's still the same Draco he ever was, I think. Just – a little better at expressing himself, maybe?"

"Expressing himself?" Ginny frowned. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"I don't know. I guess he just improves on acquaintance, once you realize that he's honestly just kidding most of the time – and when he's not, there's a reason for it."

"Kidding? He always seemed too condescending to actually be joking around."

Hermione considered this. _If Harry and I are both right – that he's just kidding now, but that he used to be too condescending to do that – that means that he doesn't patronize me anymore. I've done something worthy of his respect – I'm not beneath him. Or at least, not as much as he used to think I was. _She processed this all in the blink of an eye, as was her style, and simply said, "Then maybe his views of people have changed. I don't know."

"He hasn't been giving you a – hard time? Has he?" Ginny was suddenly anxious, realizing that she'd left Hermione with a former Death Eater – and one who had a personal dislike for her, no less. Who knew what liberties he'd taken with her?

"No, no, of course not. He's – er – quite the gentleman." She laughed nervously, remembering their banter from Friday afternoon. "More soup, Harry?"

Too busy ladling and serving, she missed the concerned looks exchanged by her two companions.

* * *

><p>Draco strode into her office, munching on an apple, fairly early on Monday morning. Hermione looked up with surprise. "Wha-?"<p>

"The guestlist," he stated simply, placing a piece of parchment on her desk.

"Draco Malfoy, how in Merlin's name did you get your hands on this?"

He winked. "I'm not the Slytherin Prince for nothing, you know. It happened like -"

"No, don't tell me; I don't want to know. Honestly," she laughed. "But this is brilliant! Sit, we need to-"

"Divide and conquer?" he suggested, settling down into the chair now permanently moved to her side of the desk.

"Something like that," she replied absently, scanning the list of names. It was everyone she had expected to be there – and then some.

They split up the names approximately half and half, each promising to talk about the legislation to the people they were assigned. There was an odd number, though – Kingsley Shacklebolt, the former Minister, now head of the Auror Office, was the last name remaining.

"Strange bloke," Draco commented. "Why in Merlin's name you would become Minister and then abandon it for – the Auror Office – is beyond me."

"For your information," Hermione icily countered. "I happen to _work_ as an Auror, and I assure you, we get more work done here than he probably did as Minister. Still, as an Auror, it would be odd talking to my boss about something I've been working on that's completely irrelevant to my _actual _job," she gestured at the pile of transcribing she had left to do.

"I take it _I'm_ supposed to talk to him, then?"

"Mmm," she nodded, preoccupied, then burst out laughing.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing – just the thought of you talking to Kingsley and trying to convince him of something," she shook her head, amused.

_She's bloody laughing at me. _The thought disconcerted him, and he recalled what she'd said last time they met – about how he entertained her. That would have to change, at some point, he decided – whether or not he ever got her to care for him, or even so much as revealed his own feelings to her.

As he got up to leave, Hermione reminded him of what Ginny had said the day before. "You're supposed to give us names, too, don't forget."

"I will – can we get this house elf business out of the way first?"

"We'll talk next week, then."

"Oh – and," he added, coming back in from the hallway. "What time would you like me to pick you up on Saturday?"

"I hadn't – er – thought of that," she admitted. "The party's at 4, though."

"I'll be at your flat by 3:30, then." Why he needed a half an hour to knock on her door and apparate with her was another story altogether, and one that he really didn't want to think about. Funnily enough, neither did she.


	10. Chapter X: Survival Skills

**Author's Note: **Percy's birthday gala! There's work to be done... ;) How do our two dates-but-not-really feature?

* * *

><p>Draco held his breath for a moment before rapping his knuckles on Hermione's front door.<p>

Putting the finishing touches on her hair, Hermione rushed to the door to open it.

"Well?" she asked anxiously. "Do come in…" Trailing off, she took in Draco. His button down shirt was the same rich purple as her dress – and yet somehow, it looked more masculine than any other color Hermione had seen. It was tucked into crisp khaki pants, and the belt buckle gleamed. He looked – _fit._ Very, very fit. "Your muggle dress sense hasn't suffered, for all your distaste of them, I see."

"I've already told you, Granger. If I do it, I do it _right_." He paused for a moment, debating as to the best way to tell her how she looked. Smiling, he asked, "I take it I was a worthy date, after all?"

"Moreso than Ron, in any case."

He frowned. Why did Ron have to come up, blast him? Why couldn't it simply be that he, Draco, was a date worthy of her in all her beauty? She was saying something else –

"I figured you'd rise to the occasion, even if it is a Weasley party and beneath your dignity. And I couldn't have you leaving me behind in the dust, could I?"

_There we go. That's more like it._ His face broke out into a smug smirk.

"I _always _leave people in the dust, Granger. Especially you."

"Oh, is that the case?" she raised an eyebrow. "Keep in mind that this is _my_ crowd tonight – not yours."

"I can be a charmer when I want to – haven't I proved that?"

"True, but who's to say the Weasleys would be deemed worthy of that charm?"

"Who's to say _you_ were?" _This is going too far. _"After all, what can you expect – I do want out of probation, you know."

Hermione looked slightly crestfallen, turning around and grabbing her purse to mask her face. _Is that really all? Once he gets off of probation, will he go back to the insults of before – and actually meaning it? Dear god, no. No, no, no._ The last two or three weeks had been – such a relief having him around. He was a lighthearted break from the dull reality that surrounded her, in all her bookwormish loneliness. Turning back around, she merely commented, "Yes, well, telling me that's why you're being polite is not the best idea. I'm bound to keep you around for longer now – or I would, if I could actually bear the sight of your face."

"Ooh, burn," he laughed, knowing she couldn't possible mean that – right? _And if she doesn't, it's her own loss. I am Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, and no blasted mudblood's opinions are going to injure my self-esteem. Why am I letting her get to me? _Calming himself down, he proffered his arm, and she apparated them to the Burrow – or as close as magical boundaries allowed.

"Pardon me," he sniffed as they began trudging towards the house. "I must say – that is smaller than our gardener's shed."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was true, no doubt – but that gave him no right to – _hold up, _she reminded herself. _This isn't Ginny's house anymore. Or George's. Or Bill's, or Percy's, or Charlie's. The only Weasley still living here besides the parents – is Ron. _Something struck her. "I know – sad, isn't it, that Ron can't provide for them properly, despite being a professional athlete and all?"

"I always told you Weasel was a good-for-nothing."

"Yes, well, his entire family isn't."

"Please. The only decent ones – well, the twins were fairly amusing, I suppose. And Ginny – isn't bad-looking, for a redhead, I suppose. If she stopped wearing secondhand clothes."

"How generous of you. You haven't met Bill, have you?"

"Bitten by Fenrir, no?"

"Yes," Hermione replied nastily. "Your old family friend, if I'm not wrong."

"Come on, Granger. Lay off. You think he didn't scare the living daylights out of me, too? The number of times he swore to feast on my flesh… and you wonder why I plotted Dumbledore's death? Or how Voldemort keeps order?"

She said nothing, sobered. The number of people who had seen the good in Draco – whether it was Dumbledore's offering him second chances (said Harry), or Harry's saving him from the Fiendfyre, or Ginny's seeing fit to keep him from Azkaban – he couldn't be all bad, then. There had to be a decent streak in him, she decided, looking sideways at the lean man walking beside her.

Draco drew closer as they approached the entrance to the back garden. Sensing her shudder as they opened the gate and entered the backyard, he slipped his hand into hers, willing her not to argue, not to say anything. _It's just part of the act we're putting on, Granger._ _Nothing more – but nothing less, either._

A slight shiver went down Hermione's spine as they passed the garden where Ron had jumpstarted the debacle of the rehearsal dinner. Draco's cold hand took hold of hers, and she was grateful for the support, even if it was put-on. It meant more than he knew.

"Ah, Hermione!" Percy greeted her with a pompous kiss on the cheek and a sad excuse for a hug. "And – er – Draco, wonderful!" He shook hands with the blonde, somewhat unsure.

After exchanging pleasantries, the pair pulled away, only to be faced by an open-mouthed Ginny and shellshocked Harry. "Do you mind explaining – this?" She gestured at their hands, clasped together.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other. "Well, that's a good start, I suppose," the brown-eyed witch laughed. "Relax, silly. I told you we were working on house elf legislation. This is _purely_ professional – he's here so that we can talk to… everyone here. You know the types of people at Percy's gatherings."

Ginny conceded, still suspicious. "Hand-holding, though? Really?"

"There's a reason for everything," Hermione countered, eyes dancing.

"Does it have something to do with Ron and-" Ginny began.

Harry groaned, catching on. "_Women." _He shook his head at Draco.

"Granger, let's grab something to eat," Draco cut her off. "Sorry, I'm a little nervous," he apologized to Ginny. "I have quite the task in front of me, trying to prove myself in front of dozens of people who are bound to hate me."

She fell prey to his pity party, much to Hermione's dismay. "Oh, you'll be fine, Draco. Don't worry about it. I'm sure you're perfectly capable of being nice, even if you never have been around me."

He rolled his eyes, pulling Hermione away.

"Hermione, darling, eet ees lovely to see you!" Fleur swooped down, bestowing hugs and kisses and good wishes galore. "And who ees thees?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he replied suavely. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed that he was able to maintain his cool, despite Fleur's part-veela nature. Ron, and even Harry, had never been able to fully pull that off. Especially Ron - he nearly drooled any time she looked at him.

"Hermione! Good to see you here," Bill said goodnaturedly, striding up in his trademark dragon-skin boots, hair as long as ever. He winked at Draco. "Lucky man, you are."

Fleur shook her head at her husband's flirtatious nature. "Where ees Victoire?"

"With Teddy, where else?" he laughed. "They're inseparable."

Hermione and Draco made their excuses and moved away, exchanging significant looks and separating. It was time to get to work.

For the next two hours, Hermione brought up house elf legislation wherever she went – keeping it classy, of course. She _never_ shoved herself on people – unless it was Harry or Ron, and Merlin knew they deserved it.

Malfoy, too, turned up his charisma as high as it would go. People seemed surprised that this former death eater was speaking on behalf of those his family had mistreated for decades – centuries, even – but they listened. Funnily enough, he seemed to elicit the best response from Kingsley.

Having successfully convinced the tall, intimidating wizard to support the proposal, he turned away.

"Malfoy," Kingsley called.

He faced him again. "Yes?"

"I'm glad you're putting in this much effort. It's appreciated." Pause. "I like you."

Draco nodded, concealing a smile. Who said he couldn't please when he wanted to? "Thank you, sir. Your words mean a lot."

As Audrey led everyone in singing Happy Birthday and Percy cut the cake (in the shape of the Ministry "M"), Hermione and Draco reunited amidst the crowd.

"Let's go," he whispered. "This is driving me nuts."

She laughed. "Hold on for a little while, and we will. I'm nearly done."

"Who else do you need to talk to?"

"Ron."

_Blast him. _"He's not on the list…"

"Yes, well. It would be rude if I left without at least saying hello."

"You don't need to waste your time on him."

"Just let me exorcise this one devil, please?"

Sighing, he gave in – grumpily – and let her drag him by his hand to where Ron and Lavender were feeding each other cake. _Ick. And she dated this man? For four years? That is disgusting_.

"Malfoy," Ron sputtered, looking up. "What the bloody hell-"

Hermione made to cut him off, but Draco beat her to the punch. "I'm with Granger." He put his arm around her shoulders.

"He's _here_ with me," she corrected, still smiling. His arm dropped to her waist. A shiver went through her body – as if she'd been electrocuted. That couldn't be good.

Lavender finally seemed to recover her senses. "Oh, Draco – your shirt – matches Hermione's dress!" she observed brightly. Ron stared at her, as if to ask if she was really that stupid.

Draco laughed and drew his arm tighter around Hermione. He was suddenly reminded of why she was his ideal. _Go figure. It took the Gryffindor harlot to prove to me that the Gryffindor princess is worth my time._ Lavender was just – so commonplace, so ordinary. Everything Hermione was not.

Ginny approached, sensing trouble. "Your dress is gorgeous, Hermione. I meant to tell you that." She tried to break the tension that she knew was inevitably building up. Focusing both Ron and Draco on the cause of their hostility was not the best idea, however.

Hermione's cheeks turned crimson, feeling Ron's eyes on her – and Draco's – but who was making her blush? She didn't know – and if she did, she didn't want to admit it. "Thanks! It was – er – Draco's-"

"It wasn't really my selection, though," his brow creased. "You picked it and asked for my approval."

Ginny's eyebrow went up. "You went – shopping together."

"Er – well – yes." Hermione shifted her weight slightly, thinking that she should have taken the chance to leave when Draco had asked. This was a little too awkward.

"You neglected to mention that."

"I'm sure she's incredibly sorry for not informing you of every little detail about her life," Draco intervened. "She's got more important things to worry about."

"Like what? You?"

"Of course."

"Stuck up prick," came Ginny's eloquent response, rolling her eyes.

The unlikely pair turned to walk away, ready to leave, when Draco felt a tug on his pants. He looked down to see a young, blonde, adorably mischievous face staring up at him.

"Er – yes?"

"Are you an angel?" she asked simply.

Hermione burst out laughing.

"What?" Draco gasped for air. Whose child was this?

"My daddy says that my mommy is an angel, because she's beautiful. You're beautiful, too. Are you an angel?"

The question was answered for him. "Yes," his date replied, breathless with laughter. "He is the sweetest, kindest, nicest angel ever." The sarcasm in her voice could not be denied – except by a little four year old. Draco glared at her pointedly, and she returned her most charming smile.

"Will you pick me up?" He had no choice but to oblige, really – and although he'd never admit it, he didn't really want to refuse. She _was_ cute. Swinging her up, he turned once in a circle, and then, seeing Hermione watching him, quickly set her down and smoothed out his shirt. As he straightened up, Victoire wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a rather wet kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, running away, in all probability back to Teddy.

"Er, well, then," he said gruffly, taking Hermione's hand and apparating to – where on earth was he taking her? There was one panic-filled instant – and then she found herself in front of Malfoy Manor's iron-wrought gates.

"Draco, I should go," she said, not interested in seeing Narcissa, who must be inside.

"Come on – one drink for a job well done isn't going to hurt. Mother's not around, don't worry."

"We're not done yet," she rolled her eyes.

"I was talking about my surviving the party."

She didn't say anything, but followed him in after he unlocked the gates. If only she'd known what she was getting herself into…


	11. Chapter XI: To Hell With It

**Author's note: **Firewhiskey, a sexy dress, and alone with Malfoy in the manor? Uh-oh, I spot trouble...in the shape of a rather clumsy kiss. I warned you :P Read, read, read - go, go, go!

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><p>Draco watched her, with a bottle of firewhiskey in her hand, sitting in the same spot where Astoria had been sitting.<p>

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Hermione said, venturing out into the silence. "I mean, some of them were quite taken with you."

He didn't reply immediately, choosing his words carefully, and then – _To hell with it. _"They were only taken with me because of you."

"What do you mean?" Quizzically.

"You drew attention to us – you looked happier, better, fuller than you ever did with Weasel, I'll bet."

"I don't understand." She did, really, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"Oh come on, Granger. He's not fit to wipe the slime off of your boots. You look like a dowdy old bookworm when you're with him – I saw you at school."

"Maybe that's because he makes me be _me_ – maybe I am just a dowdy old bookworm at heart."

"I agree; you are a bookworm – but you don't have to look it. I mean, seriously. The two times that people stood up and took notice of you as being particularly – attractive? The Yule Ball, with Krum. This party, with me. Notice the similarities."

He was right, and she admitted so grudgingly, not saying anything else, brooding.

"You're not over him," Draco said simply. "You were using me today, flaunting me in his face – which I didn't wholly mind, considering I was most definitely showing him up, both in me and my choice of women, but-"

"You did _not_ just say that." Hermione'e eyes were wide.

"What?"

"Since when did I – I don't even believe this-"

"For Merlin's sake, Granger, spit it out."

"You're implying that _I'm_ a better choice than Lavender – she's a pureblood, through and through."

He snorted. "A whore, too." Pausing, he added, "You don't deny that you're not over him, though."

She remained silent for a while. "It's not… him, really. It's like – well, I explained this to Ginny, not sure why I'm telling you, but I guess I broke up with him because we weren't working, right?"

"He's beneath you, we knew that."

"Yeah, well. There's still a part of me – that clings to the memories of the war – and no one else besides Ron and Harry could really understand what it was like. Seamus, Dean, Neville – no one. And I knew when I broke it off with Ron that I wasn't going to – seriously be with anyone else. I can't. There would always be a major part of me that they didn't understand. I can't get past that, and it seems like I can't get past _him_. It's not him – it's the idea of someone who understands what those years were like."

He felt like he ought to comfort her – but he didn't know how, especially not with her. It suddenly struck him how strange this was – Hermione Granger, drinking a bottle of firewhiskey in Malfoy Manor, with him – alone.

_Oh, fuck it all, Malfoy. If you can't make a move now, that's just sad. She's just getting over him – she's slightly intoxicated – and she looks damn sexy, and so do you. And you're alone. Let's see how hard to get she is now._

Getting up, he pointed his wand at the radio, setting it to the classical station. Hermione looked at him slightly askance, setting aside her empty bottle. She didn't change the music. That meant more than she could ever know. It all just felt so _right_, and Draco moved towards her, inspired by the magic of the moment – magic that had nothing to do with wands or spells.

He offered his hand, bending down on one knee – he wasn't going to screw this up. She stood up, smiling, and took it without a word. His arm on her waist – her hand on his shoulder – their hands clasped – not a step out of time, out of rhythm, out of place – _this._ This was what he had wanted with Astoria, and what he had never found – never found with any of the women he romanced. Even if she slapped him for this tomorrow morning – or worse, if she didn't remember – he would never forget. He had the out-of-reach Granger in his arms, at last, after weeks of torturing himself about her elusiveness.

"Hermione," he breathed, burying his face in the scent of her curls, tamed for one evening only. So _maybe_ he was a little tipsy, too. Didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself in this state.

The music ended, and the Irish bloke began speaking again. Draco and Hermione froze, eyes locked on each other. His steel melted against her honey-gold. He was going to regret this, for sure, but – _to hell with it._

His lips fell on hers, gently at first – and then with more force as she responded to him. Her arms went around his neck, hands entangling themselves in his perfectly combed hair. He enveloped her petite waist, lifting her up just off her toes.

And then she was cupping his face – her hands were sliding – she stopped herself. _What in the world are you doing? _she asked herself. _You're drunk – alone with him – he's a womanizer – you're not doing this… _her conscience faded in the realization that it just felt _right_, and there was no denying it. _To hell with it._ Her hands continued to slide down, resting on his chest. The material of his shirt was silky – smooth – too smooth to be real. She undid the first few buttons as his lips left her mouth, trailing down her neck, gently caressing her bare shoulders. Her hands slipped inside his upper garment, relishing his toned, strong, cold muscles. He brought her closer – there was no room for her hands in between their bodies. They went back around his neck as their lips met again, more passionately than before. She could feel her dress rumpling – riding up – his lower body shoved into hers, pushing her up against the wall – and _oh no_. She pulled away immediately.

"We can't – do this – just – I need to go." With that, she turned and nearly ran out the doors.

Behind her, Draco realized why she'd fled – and let out a groan. This _was_ going to be difficult.


	12. Chapter XII: Falling in Lust?

**Author's Note: **Confused Hermione doesn't know what to do - romance novel symptoms whoo! How does she handle it? And Draco fulfills the second part of his probation deal - names. :P Where do they go from here? Australia, maybe? ;) Read & Review, darlings!

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><p>Hermione sat at her desk Monday morning, still reeling from the aftereffects of Percy's party.<p>

Had she really kissed Draco Malfoy? Outright snogged him?

Had he really let her?

What on earth were they doing?

She was so very confused. The one thing she was very, very sure of was that she was _not _entering a relationship with anyone - least of all him. No one would understand her, and it would just end up - _a flaming mess. _Strengthening her resolve, she set her attention to the work at hand.

A memo entered her office, settling down on her desk. It was from Kingsley.

_Hermione - I'd like to meet with you and Mr. Malfoy. He's contacted me saying he has names and hideouts, and as one of our department heads, you will likely be in charge of the investigation, with Sharon as your assistant, if you so choose. Please join me in my office at 2:30. -Kingsley_

She groaned. Malfoy - again? At least this meant he was nearly through with his probation, though. It was just a matter of pushing this legislation through, and this one meeting - and that was it, right?

She'd hear the end of him then, at least, wouldn't she?

* * *

><p>Kingsley and Malfoy were already seated when she entered. Draco was sitting on the other side of Kingsley's desk.<p>

She cursed herself for even paying attention to his every little detail - why, why, why did she let him affect her so?

The blond wizard sensed her discomfort and knew he was its cause. _Guilty. _

"Now that we're joined by Miss Granger - you say you have names."

"I do," replied Malfoy. "I know where one or two of them are as well, I think."

"You think?" Hermione interjected sharply. "You _think_? We need a slightly more definitive-"

"We'll go on what we have, Hermione," Kingsley overrode her objections.

She sighed. Two against one. This wasn't going to be a fun meeting at all.

"Yaxley. He's hiding - in Austrialia, somewhere."

"Do you have a location that we could pinpoint?" Kingsley questioned.

"Not really, but - well, sir, it's like this: if I go, I'll be able to pick up on where exactly he is, if that makes sense. The little clues about him that only I or any other Death Eater would know-"

Hermione understood. "His tastes in living - whether by the beach or in a city, independent house or flat-"

"I would know exactly the kind of place he'd want to be," agreed Draco.

Kingsley nodded, slowly, seeing the implications before Hermione did. "You want to be one of the two Aurors we send on this mission."

"Yes, sir. It would be an honor, really."

Hermione gasped.

"Miss Granger, are you okay with that?" The Head Auror was slightly concerned. "He'd go with you instead of Sharon."

Whatever had happened Saturday night - Draco Malfoy was preferable to Sharon Vernus, any day. "Yeah- er, that's - fine, great," she managed.

"Wonderful. If you two could leave sometime in the next two or three days?"

"Wednesday?"

"Wednesday works," Draco nodded.

"I'll send you," Kingsley addressed Draco, "the necessary materials and guidelines. I know you're not an Auror, so your judgment is secondary to hers in this. You're aware of that?"

"Yes, of course."

Blast it, why was he so damn smooth, all the time, the bloody kiss-ass? Hermione was very, very frustrated with the outcomes of this particular meeting.

She didn't really pay attention to anything else that was said until the two of them were dismissed. They exited Kingsley's office together.

"I'll walk you to your-" Draco began.

"What, so you can snog me senseless? Or even better, shag me on the desk?" She didn't mean to be that harsh. Really, she didn't. "Sorry," she said softly. "It's just -"

"No, I understand. I'll still walk you there," he smirked. My, but he had a _lot_ of power over her, didn't he? This was going to be one interesting mission.

They walked to her office in silence, and he waited as she unlocked the wards around her door.

She stepped into the room, and turned back around to face the blond.

"I'll come to your flat on Wednesday morning?"

"Yeah, that'll work, I guess. Might as well leave from there."

He swiftly bent down, kissing her on the cheek. Immediately, he cursed himself for it. _She'll bloody hate me now. Think I'm some kind of womanizer with nothing better to do than - well, I suppose I am, _he realized ruefully. _It's just - she was never on my list of potential bedmates. And now - _and now what? He didn't know what she was now.

Without another word, he left Hermione standing in her doorway, wondering - at the gentleness of his touch, at his embarrassment, at the tingling she felt in her cheek. What in the world was going on?

* * *

><p>Ginny joined her as they walked out of work that day.<p>

"So," she demanded, "Malfoy."

"Yes?"

"What in the world-"

"Relax, it's purely professional."

"Sure, sure. Hermione, he was _holding _your _hand_."

"Yeah, well. That may have something to do with - well, never mind." How could she tell Ginny that Draco was upset at her not getting over Ron? At her paying Ron more attention than she payed him? She couldn't tell her.

"I heard he gave Kingsley some names?"

"He did - Yaxley's in Australia."

"Really? Who's going-"

"I am."

"Are you up for it? With Sharon, no less?" she grimaced.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm not going with Sharon. I'm going with - well, Draco said that he doesn't know exactly where Yaxley is, but he'd be able to tell if he was there, so..." She trailed off, leaving the implications to Ginny.

"You. And Draco. In Australia. Looking for Yaxley. Sounds slightly dangerous, don't you think?"

Hermione laughed. "Not as dangerous as roaming the country with the Number 1 Most Wanted human being in all of Britain as a teenager."

"True, true. You'll survive just fine, I'm sure."

"I hope so." She wasn't as worried about Yaxley as much as Draco. He was the real threat. He was preying on her sanity, her ability to reason through things - she couldn't whenever he was around, not anymore. She couldn't stop remembering - his skin, his lips, his smooth, lean, muscle... no. This was not happening.

It wasn't love, anyway, she decided as she entered her flat alone. It was lust. Which meant it wouldn't last forever. She'd just have to get through this one mission - and then he'd go away, far away. And that was all she wanted. Truly.

Right?


	13. Chapter XIII: A Hole in the Fortress

**Author's Note: **The capture of Yaxley & some interesting occurrences. Warning(s) - torture & implied rape. Mostly serious, no fluff at all, really. Read & review!

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><p>"I've never been to Australia," Draco admitted as they readied their bags.<p>

"Yes, well, I have. It's where I left my parents too, after obliviating them."

"You obliviated your parents?"

"So the Death Eaters wouldn't torture them for information," she replied, shouldering her purse, missing the expression that flashed through his eyes.

"When did you find them ag-"

"I didn't." The reply was curt, but not necessarily rude. In any case, it ended the conversation. "Ready?"

He placed his hand in hers - _tingle_ - and they were off.

An instant later, they were standing, bags and all, in a remote corner of sand. The ocean stretched out invitingly before them - but they had a mission to accomplish. They strode purposefully across the boardwalk, looking for all the world like a tourist couple out for a walk on the beach.

It wasn't tropical - _just my style_, Hermione decided. Rocky, sandy, with azure blue water. Grey clouds nearly masked the sun, but it shown through ever-so-slightly.

Draco paused, looking out at the stormy sky.

"Come on - it's going to pour any moment," Hermione called back.

"Oh, give me a moment. It's beautiful. Not that I'd expect you to understand or anything." He frowned. Where had that statement come from? He hadn't meant to go blurting out some nonsense about beauty. He really needed to watch his mouth around her before she turned him into a sappy romantic.

She shot him a curious look - his eyes reminded her of the sky, steely grey with some intense fire shining behind them. _No_, she reprimanded. _You are not going to fall into this trap - his trap. Focus. _She pushed on until they reached the main street. It would have been far easier simply to apparate here, but crowded and busy as it was... that wasn't plausible. They were going muggle.

* * *

><p>A few hours later found the two of them safe in a one-bedroom flat in Sydney. It was neatly furnished, albeit rather simply so. Draco watched from the shadows as Hermione conjured another bed. She felt his eyes on her, but didn't think explanation was necessary. Using her wand, she moved the beds to opposite sides of the room. <em>There. Much better.<em>

_I can't let her go on like this, _he realized. _I need to say something, anything. _"Look."

"If this is about the ki-what happened at your house Saturday night, I don't want-"

"When have I ever cared what you wanted?" He overrode her. Mudblood versus Malfoy, and Malfoys _always _won.

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't make a habit of snogging mudbloods, you know."

"I gathered as much. Don't go telling me I should feel honored; I'll slap you."

"I never said that - Merlin, let me finish. You're not the only one who's having a hard time with the aftermath of... whatever happened. Be a little considerate, please? I'm sorry - but it wasn't just me. You wanted it just as badly; don't deny it."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. He didn't say anything more, though - he wanted a reply. Finally - "I'm not sure what you think that makes us, but I'm telling you now that I'm not getting into anything with you - physical, emotional, _anything_. I'm not doing it with anyone anymore - especially not you."

It was rejection at its finest - and most blunt. He nodded, simply, numb from the feeling. It had never really happened before, a girl outright rejecting him like that. He let it go. Eventually, he figured, he could bring her round.

Right?

* * *

><p>They set out immediately, searching Sydney. Walking up a busy thoroughfare, he turned to her, suddenly. "He's here. I just- I can feel it." His pace quickened, and she followed, trusting his judgment implicitly. What other choice did she have?<p>

Stopping abruptly at a high-rise building, he thought for a moment. "Yes - he always liked heights. And didn't like water - he'd be in the far end of the city. Makes sense, logically." He turned to Hermione. "Can't you feel it?"

She could. Most definitely. Dark Magic emanated from somewhere in this building. She shivered. How could the muggles not tell?

As they stepped inside, they missed the curtain that shifted, way up on the 13th floor. Someone was watching.

* * *

><p>They were both silent as they ascended the stairs, following the easily detectable trace of Dark Magic. It led them to the 13th floor, to the door overlooking the street.<p>

Hermione breathed deeply. She could do this. She could. "Do you want me to-"

"No, I'll do it." He knocked.

The door opened - first a crack, then wider. "Ah, Draco! Welcome, welcome," Yaxley leered.

They entered tentatively, unsure of what he was planning. Hermione doubted that he'd come easily.

"Sit, do," he gestured, settling himself on his own couch. "And who might you be, beautiful?"

She didn't like that smile. Not at all. And no, she would not sit, thank you. She opened her mouth to speak, but not before Draco sat down on the sofa opposite Yaxley.

Immediately, ropes shot out, binding him to the seat and cutting off his circulation.

"_Sit_," Yaxley commanded_. _"I insist."

"I very well will _not_ sit," Hermione shot back angrily. Raising her wand, she lifted her head of curls to look him regally in the eyes. They were black, full of pure, unadulterated loathing. "I am Hermione Granger, and you, sir, are under arrest." She prepared for him to disarm her; it would be the next logical step.

Behind them, Draco stifled his yelps of pain as he began to lose feeling in his hands. They were turning blue fast - too fast. He was losing grip on his wand, too.

Yaxley paused for a moment, appraising Hermione as he looked her up and down. His wand never came up; instead, he drew near, brushing a hand on her curls.

His thick-fingered hand on her hair brought back memories - she didn't send him flying as she ought to have done. Not at first, anyway.

Closing her eyes for an instant, she reopened them, waved her wand - and Yaxley fell over his own couch, crashing to the ground spectacularly.

Quickly she turned to Draco, undoing the ropes on his hands. "Stay," she whispered.

He understood. It was better if Yaxley still thought him incapacitated.

She slowly approached the body on the floor, unmoving. Her curse hadn't hit him that hard, had it? Cautiously, she-

He lunged up, knocking her to the ground, and landing on top of her.

His hand traced her face, moving lower - lower -

Draco was not sitting still very well. "Keep your hands off of her," he growled. _Blast staying here,_ he decided. Standing up, he faced Yaxley.

It was a duel of equals - impressive, considering Yaxley's experience, really. Sparks flew all over the flat, household objects were broken, sent crashing down to the ground.

Finally, Yaxley positioned himself so as to block Draco's access to Hermione. She stood up, now, faced Yaxley, trying to strengthen her resolve - he just held her as Bellatrix had, a knife at her throat.

Draco knocked the knife away from him - it nicked her skin, just a tad. Grinning wickedly, Yaxley took the drop of blood - and drank it.

"You're not Fenrir," Draco spat. "Stop trying so hard."

Yaxley merely laughed, pointing his wand instead at her head.

The blond winced. That was how the Dark Lord held his mother - he knew what was coming.

"Crucio!"

Hermione screamed. Draco shut his eyes - he couldn't - yes, he could. He'd lived through it with his own parents, hadn't he? He could watch a bloody mudblood being tortured - he had when Bellatrix had done it. But Yaxley was more cunning than Bellatrix - he somehow orchestrated it to look just how Voldemort had tortured Narcissa.

_Your own mother - and you lived through it. Hermio-Granger is nothing. You can watch. Without pain. Just - get - him - to - stop._ He had to open his eyes, he couldn't _not_ watch, however much pain it caused him. And it really shouldn't hurt him this much, after all - he opened his eyes.

Seeing her there, suffering, fallen to the ground - he very nearly lost it. "Don't - touch - her," he growled, advancing towards the pair.

"Really?" Yaxley lifted her up; she was limp. He began to unbutton her blouse - it was the one Draco had bought her at Twilfitt and Tattings.

With a flick of his wand, Yaxley sent him flying. Landing on the other side of the room, he scrambled for his wand. Grasping it desperately, he turned back towards the two of them.

Yaxley was almost done with her top, his hands fumbling. Thick, meaty hands - Hermione came back to consciousness with a start. She was lost for a moment - then - _no, not again. No. _

Her face told Draco more than he ever wanted to know about what exactly happened when she captured Dolohov. He had never seen her defenseless before, and this was breaking her.

He sent Yaxley flying, and Hermione shot him a look of pure gratitude.

"When will you Malfoys ever learn?" Yaxley returned faster than they'd expected. "Stop - interfering!" He strode past Hermione, towards Draco, backing him up into the wall. "You'd have thought that seeing your mother tortured - father bound and beaten would have done it, but no."

The blond whimpered. There were some memories he _really _didn't want to go back to.

Rebuttoning her blouse, Hermione came up behind the Death Eater quietly.

Draco had shut his eyes as Yaxley laughed at his pain. Now, he opened them - and met Hermione's for an instant, no more.

The honey-brown eyes bolstered his strength - he could do this. _They _could do this _together. _

The next moment, Draco was on his feet, and Yaxley's neck had wands on both sides.

"Petrificus totalus," Hermione declared, jumping out of the way before he fell on top of her again.

Draco neatly pocketed his wand. "Shall we?" he asked shakily.

"Back to the flat," she agreed.

They set Yaxley in a corner, casting multiple wards around him to ensure he would never get out unless they let him.

Hermione went to go make herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, and Draco joined her.

"I didn't -"

"Not now." She nodded towards the room Yaxley. Petrificus Totalus didn't inhibit the ears, after all.

"Muffliato?"

She shook her head. "We'll talk after we get back to the Ministry." She bent forward, pressing her lips gently on his cheek.

By the time Draco had come to his senses, she had left the room to ready their things. He followed suit, finding her levitating Yaxley onto the bed.

"I guess we didn't even need these," she said ruefully, gesturing at the two distantly placed pieces of furniture. "That's actually the fastest capture I've ever had - it usually takes days for us to find them."

"Lucky you had my help, then, isn't it? Can't imagine a mudblood like you being able to pick up on Death Eater traces."

She smiled, shaking her head. Some things didn't change, did they?


	14. Chapter XIV: Unexpected Twists

**Author's Note: **They set up to come clean to the former Grangers. Warning: slightly fluffy :P

* * *

><p>Draco stared out the window as Hermione did one last once-over to make sure they had everything. "We never really took anything out of the bags, you know," he called. "No point looking for things."<p>

"It never hurt to double-check," she replied brusquely.

"Say - that woman likes you. _Exactly _like you." He beckoned her to the window - Hermione gasped.

Stepping out of Wilkins' Dentistry on the other side of the street was - her mother.

She collapsed onto the bed. Today was getting stranger and stranger.

Draco sat beside her, tentatively stretching his arm around her. When she didn't shrug it off, he squeezed her shoulder gently. "You can't let things stay like this," he said quietly. "I know - believe me, I know - parents are important. Don't let them slip away like that."

She looked up at him. "I obliviated them because - well -"

"You didn't want what happened to my parents to happen to yours," he said bitterly. "I know."

"Oh, Draco, I - I'm so sorry." She put her arms around him and held him close.

"Come on," he said, pulling away after a moment.

"What about him?" she gestured at Yaxley.

He thought for a moment. "Fine. We go back, hand him in, and come right back. Deal?" He paused. "Who am I kidding? You're Granger; I'm Malfoy. My word goes."

She rolled her eyes, but placed her arm on his nonetheless. They appeared in the Auror department.

"I didn't know you can apparate into the Ministry," he frowned.

"Aurors can - into the department. In case, you know - last-minute escapes or aid, that sort of thing. It's been that way since 1896, when a dispatch was killed on a mission because they apparated to their home and then tried to floo in. The prisoner broke out and attacked during the process."

He nodded. It made sense. "Only you would know the history, Granger," he said wryly.

She said nothing, stopping at Kingsley's door. The sign on it said he was in - she knocked.

"Come in," he boomed.

They entered, suddenly aware of how odd they must look. It wasn't the time for self-consciousness, though.

He was floored. "Already? You haven't even been gone 24 hours!"

They looked at each other. "His traces were easy to detect, sir," Draco offered.

"I'll want a report on the full details of the capture, for record pur-"

"Mr. Shacklebolt, can I - I need to return to Sydney," Hermione interrupted. "It's urgent."

"_We _need to return to Sydney," Draco corrected.

Kingsley seemed slightly confused.

"It's my parents, sir - I've found them."

"In that case - by all means, go ahead. Do you want to - er - take Mr. Malfoy with you?"

She looked at the blond for a minute, thinking.

In first year, when Harry and Ron had come to her aid and defeated the mountain troll - they really had no choice but to be friends. You couldn't _not_ be. This was similar, she realized. What had happened in Yaxley's flat - she and Draco really had no choice, did they? It was going to happen, whether she wanted it to or not. Love or lust - this blond Slytherin Prince was the one person who knew what her life had really been like, besides Harry and Ron. He knew what it was like to live in constant fear of Voldemort, moreso than any other teenager who'd lived through those times. He knew what she'd gone through, letting go of her parents - and he made her realize she needed them back. He was a fellow intellectual - someone she could really _talk_ to, for the first time ever. He knew what had happened with Dolohov - even Ginny didn't know that. He'd seen what had happened with Yaxley.

And she'd seen the hole in his fortress, too, hadn't she? She couldn't abandon him - leave him behind - not now.

"Hermione?" Kingsley brought her back down to earth.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I'll take him with me."

"Like there was even a question," Malfoy muttered sarcastically. "Honestly, what do you think you'd do without me?"

She smiled.

* * *

><p>Back to the beach - to the thoroughfare - to the flat they had been in. They dropped their bags off - who knew how long this would take? - and went to pay Wilkin's Dentistry a visit.<p>

"Erm - excuse me - I'd like to schedule an appointment," Hermione said to the pretty brunette receptionist.

"They're booked today," she replied. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, expecting as much. She wasn't going to press it, though - the muggle patients didn't have to change their schedules just for her. "When's the earliest you have?"

"Tomorrow, 2:30."

"That's fine," she smiled.

"Name?"

"Hermione J. Granger."

"Are you new?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'll need your insur-" A blank paper was slipped across the counter, and a light Confundus charm placed on the unsuspecting muggle woman. "That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly. "Thank you; have a nice day."

* * *

><p>"Why didn't you schedule yourself for today? You could have found a way, you know-"<p>

"If I'd wanted to. It didn't mean that much to me, honestly. The muggles don't need to-"

"They're _muggles_, Granger. _Muggles. _They-"

"They're people too, whether you admit it or not," she retorted, folding her legs beneath her as they sat down on the pebbly beach.

"Fair enough. Still, I was surprised."

"Why?"

"I'd have thought you wanted away from me as soon as possible." His voice was distant as he stared out at the azure blue ocean. Grey clouds still hovered in the sky - the storm hadn't arrived yet. The sun peeped through a crack in the clouds.

"Did you really think that?" It was posed nonchalantly, as though she was asking about the weather.

When he looked her in the eye, she could see the fire behind his eyes, clear and plain - the sun coming out from behind the clouds and staring her in the face. "Just tell me, Granger. I can't do these games anymore. One minute you're telling me you can't be-"

She pressed her lips to his, silencing him completely.

He fell back at first, taken aback by her move, then pushed against her, cupping her face in his hands. She ran her hands through his hair.

They pulled away. "Not here," she whispered.

An instant later found them in the flat again.

"I was never one for PDA either," Draco laughed, lunging forward for another kiss. He stopped abruptly. "Tell me - why?"

"There are some things that you can't go through without -"

"Falling in love?" he laughed. "Perhaps. God forbid I go through those things with a muggle - but I guess it's too late, I already have."

"You're terrible, you know that?"

"_You_ were the one who told me never to change."

"Yeah - don't." He kissed her once more, holding her close.

Never again would he let any man lay so much as a finger on her, he decided. After all that she'd been through - they'd been through together - he wouldn't allow it.

* * *

><p>They weren't holding hands in the waiting room. Neither had much of a taste for any kind of public affection, really. But when the nurse called Hermione back, Draco went with her.<p>

"Sir," the nurse began. "I don't think-"

"Yes?" He gave her his most dazzling smile. She was swept off her feet. At least she could _look_ at him if he was back there, right? My, what an attractive man.

"It shouldn't be an issue," she coyly replied.

As soon as she turned her back, Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione grinned at him, settling down in the chair.

The nurse came back in to clean her teeth. "You look _just_ like Dr. Wilkins. Isn't that odd?"

"Yes, very."

The blond wizard watched, slightly fascinated, as she picked and polished the very white, very straight teeth in front of her.

After what seemed like an age, she sent Dr. Wilkins in.

"Hello there, lovely - oh how odd. You look just-"

"Like you, I know," Hermione's voice was pained. "Draco-"

He turned, guarding against any innocent nurse who wandered in on the conversation by accident.

Behind him, one brown-haired witch was fighting back tears as she raised her wand and murmured the countercharm, restoring the memory of her mother.

"Mom?" she whispered. "Please say you-"

"Hermione? My Hermione? Oh my goodness - what-"

"Listen, listen," she sat up straight, breathing fast. "I need you to keep pretending that you're Monica Wilkins, okay? I'm just a patient, just pretend. I'll meet you at home in the evening and explain _everything_, I promise."

Dr. Gr-Dr. Wilkins nodded, and quickly wrote out an address for her. "Here," she whispered. "I want a _full _explanation, young lady."

Hermione nodded meekly. "Yes, Mom."

* * *

><p>"I want a <em>full <em>explanation, young lady," Draco mimicked as they entered the flat.

"Oh, shut up, you," she laughed.

"Seriously, though. I want a blow-by-blow of how you realized you couldn't live without me," he grinned cockily.

She sobered up. "Watching Yaxley do that to you in his flat - I don't know. I just - I wanted so badly to make sure you were okay - because I didn't want to think of what life would be, without you making wisecracks and unnecessary blood purity jokes all the time."

He smiled. "Yaxley has a lot to answer for - but I'm kind of grateful for everything that he brought about, really. It's weird, isn't it, the way things work out?"

"Very," she agreed.

"Two months ago - I would have been happy to marry Astoria, have kids, send them to Hogwarts - as long as they ended up in Slytherin, of course - and maybe do a stint in Azkaban to restore my family's wealth."

"And now?"

"I honestly don't care, as long as I'm with you."

"Yeah right."

"Okay, okay. Fine - I want my estate back in my hands completely. I want my mother to approve of you - desperately so."

She understood where that came from. "It's mutual, don't worry - the mother thing. Goodness knows, Mom knows enough about you already."

His eyes went wide. "What have you told her?"

"Only the truth - that you're a foul prick who can't think of a nice thing to say to me because you're a bloody arrogant sod."

"You've left out the most important bits."

"Which are?"

"That you can't live without me," he replied. "And that I'm a bloody good kisser."

She laughed. "I'll be sure to tell her that, too."


	15. Chapter XV: Dinner with the Dentists

**Author's Note: **Ooh parental units! Scary, scary. Right? Read and Review :)

* * *

><p>"Breathe," he told her. "You can do this."<p>

She rang the doorbell.

"Come in, come in!" Her mother opened the door.

"Monica -" Dr. Granger froze, looking from his wife to his daugher - and back.

Raising her wand, Hermione restored his memory.

The shock sent him a few steps backward onto the couch. "Hermione," he said simply. "Hermione."

"Yes, Dad, it's me."

"Well, then. Sit, both of you - who are you, by the way?" Her mother asked, squinting at Draco.

"Oh - er-"

"I'll explain _everything_, Mum. Just sit tight. Please?"

Her parents nodded.

"You remember Harry - and Ron, right?"

"Yes, he had such sweet parents," her mother recalled. "So kind, so helpful. He was a nice boy."

"That's Ron. I'm talking about Harry, really. Remember I told you-"

"That wizard - oh, Voldy-what's-his-face-" Her father struggled for a moment.

"Voldemort," Draco supplied.

"Right, right - Voldemort killed his parents and he survived and all that. He was always getting you and that nice Ron boy into scrapes, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Hermione laughed. "He was. Anyway, you remember - the summer after fourth year -"

"He came back - Voldemort. You told us - you went to go live with the Weasleys and some Order or something, right?"

"The Order of the Phoenix were the primary forces in fighting Voldemort, and I went to stay at their headquarters. Things were dangerous, but sort of all right until sixth year, when Harry learned something about Voldemort that - well, it was very important. And my headmaster - Dumbledore-"

"You used to praise him to the high heavens," her mother smiled. "He must be a great man, to earn your praise like that. You don't give it easily, God knows."

"He died that year, after helping Harry realize what he needed to do. See, Voldemort - when you commit murder, you split your soul, sort of. And he did it a number of times, and encased each of those bits of soul in objects. Unless we destroyed all the objects - they're called Horcruxes - we couldn't kill Voldemort himself. And we realized, the three of us, at the end of sixth year, after Dumbledore was killed..." she trailed off - Draco was trembling. "Are you all-"

"Keep going," he said. "I'm - fine, really."

She smiled comfortingly, knowing this was hard for him, remembering his sixth year . "We - well, Ron and I - realized we had to help Harry find them, because he was likely to get himself killed if he went alone. So the summer before what should have been my seventh year," she swallowed, "I modified your memories and left."

"You didn't go back to school." Her father's voice was threatening. "My daughter dropped out of school. I can't believe this. You ditched your education to go traipsing around the country with some self-styled hero, abandoned your parents and-"

"No." Draco stepped in, seeing Hermione meekly at the mercy of her father's anger. "It wasn't like that."

"Really? Then you tell us."

His voice grew in strength as he defended her. "If she hadn't gone - if she'd returned to school - she wouldn't have been accepted, for one thing, because she's a muggle. And even if they had let her in - Ron and Harry would have died without her brains. And if Harry died, then everything would have been lost. Voldemort would have taken over completely. Not to mention, she would have been tortured at school."

"Tortured?" Her mother's voice was quiet. "They were torturing children?"

Ignoring her question, Draco moved on. "She was captured - they all were, in March. Brought to-" he paused. "Brought to Voldemort's headquarters. She was tortured there, for information." He grabbed Hermione's arm and shoved her sleeve up, revealing the scars. She had never had them removed - Harry, Ron, and Ginny had never quite understood why. Draco did. He always did.

Her parents gasped. She looked away, tears wetting her eyes.

"This is what they did to her. And more. They would have killed her. They would have done this to you, too - and you're wandless, defenseless. You would have died - and they would have broken into your memories and learned all they needed to know. They would have gone after these three, killed them, won. She was protecting you - and everyone else in the world, really."

"And how do you know all this, young man? You're neither Harry nor Ron, from what I can tell," her father frowned.

He sighed heavily. "I was there. They were brought to _my_ house, tortured by _my_ brutal aunt - _I_-"

"He tried to save us," Hermione whispered. "He could have told them he recognized us - they would have brought Voldemort in right then and there to kill us three. He didn't give us away."

Her father's frown deepened. "Who exactly are you?"

"Draco Malfoy."

The two dentists gasped. "She's told us all about you, she has," her father rose menacingly.

"No, Dad, please! Let me finish!"

"Sit, sit," her mother beckoned him back to the couch. "Go on."

"We escaped from the house," she continued. "Finished finding the horcruxes - ended up at Hogwarts. There was a major battle - Ron's older brother died, one of the twins, you remember?"

"Oh, poor Molly," Dr. Granger thought of the kindly, bustling, motherly soul who had befriended her in Diagon Alley so many years before.

"Many others, too."

"I would have died as well, except - well, these three saved my life, really."

"Not that you _deserved _it, did you?"

"Dad - let up on Draco, will you?"

"Oh, so he's _Draco_ now, is he? I thought he was that foul Malfoy git."

"Dad, please?"

"Harold, let her finish." Her mother's voice was strong, commanding, even.

"The battle - Harry killed him, Voldemort. We won - and so everything started settling down. Thing is, there were a lot of Death Eaters on trial and such. Do you remember Ron's little sister, Ginny?"

"Only daughter in the family, wasn't she?"

"Yes - she married Harry - just a few weeks ago, actually."

"Hold on - one moment - since we've moved on past the climax of things, it would seem - would you like something to eat? I'll bring you some dinner."

A few minutes later, the four were seated at a dining table, eating as they talked.

"So, you were saying Ginny and Harry - weren't you and Ron an item?"

"_Mum_," she rolled her eyes.

"Kidding, kidding. But seriously - we used to tease you about him all the time, didn't we? It was likely you two would-"

"We did."

"You're married?" Her mother yelped.

"No, no, no-" she burst out laughing at the look on Draco's face. "No, Ron wasn't my type, Mum."

"Too stupid, was he?" Her father gulped down the last of his soup. "That's the problem for all guys, with you, isn't it? Too stupid, all of them. Even me, sometimes."

"Never you, Dad. Don't say that." She smiled at him. "But yes, he was - rather stupid. Not stupid - just - he had no class, or something. I don't know. It wasn't working. We broke up a few months ago."

"Do you mean to say you dated him for four years?"

"Er - yeah, I suppose we did. Anyway, he's been getting along just fine without me."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "That sounds suspicious."

"He's been sleeping with the slut of Hogwarts, sir. They're - _seeing_ each other." Draco's voice was full of contempt for Ron - as always.

"Is that true?" Dr. Granger demanded of his daughter. "He ditched you and went for a slut?"

"Er - well, sort of. Yeah. She's rather - cheap, really."

"Blast it, I liked those Weasley parents. That's too bad their son turned out...whatever. I'm sure the daughter - Ginny - is nice. Right?"

"Oh, they're all quite nice people, don't get me wrong. Anyway - the thing is, Ginny became a prosecutor, trying these Death Eater types at court. And then-"

"I came along." Draco spoke. "She didn't think Azkaban was bad enough for me - for what I'd done. I plotted the death of Dumbledore - a lot of people hated me for that."

"Draco - you were tortured into it. Don't even think of blaming yourself."

Her parents looked at her oddly. "Voldemort tortured his parents in front of his eyes - that's how he got him to do what he needed."

They winced.

"And in the end, he didn't really kill him after all. Someone else did, on Dumbledore's own orders. Snape - the potions professor?"

"The one teacher you never liked," her father smirked. "How could I forget him? I thought he was a slimy git, from what you told me."

"He - he was a good man," Hermione said softly. "He loved Lily - Harry's mother - and when Voldemort went after them, he turncoated and promised anything to make sure she lived - or Harry did, at any rate. Dumbledore had been cursed by a horcrux - he was already dying - he asked Snape to do it for him, so that - well, it's rather complicated - there's-"

"We get it, we get it. He was a good guy, in the end. Don't confuse me with all this magic business, please, I beg you." Her father laughed.

"Anyway - Ginny decided that Azkaban wasn't horrible enough for Draco. So she put him on probation, and put me in charge."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Granger apologized to the blond man at his table. "I don't even want to know-"

"I wasn't _that_ bad," she said grumpily.

"Yes, you were. She _tortured _me, sir. Gave me lines - about house-elves. And there's more, too."

"Oh god - they were those things you went on and on about that one summer, weren't they? Slaves or something? You actually said he was the worst of the lot when it came to fair treatment," he gestured at Malfoy.

"Yeah, he still is, I think. I made him copy down all the legislation about house-elves that there has ever been written. And then he helped me draft new procedures for handling the servitude of the house-elves."

"Impressive, for someone she used to think was the foulest creature to ever walk the planet - you seem to be doing a decent turn, for once."

"I had no choice in the matter," Draco grimaced. "Really, I didn't."

"Ron has this brother - Percy - he's the Minister of Magic, actually - and his birthday - well, all the important people were there."

"I took her as my date - and shopping, too, actually, so she had decent clothes to wear, not those frumpy things."

Her parents laughed, but it was a dangerous sound - a don't-insult-my-daughter-or-she-will-hurt-you laugh, more than anything.

"He just came so he could discuss our work. It was purely professional, really," she justified, knowing they were still wondering where the jump happened - when she had stopped hating the man who had insulted her at every possible opportunity and became his closest friend.

"Speak for yourself - I'd started having nightmares by that point. I ended it with my girlfriend of two years because - well, because every other girl in the world seemed like a cheap, stupid slut compared to Hermione."

Her parents nodded.

"We've raised our Hermione well," her father said proudly.

"Yes - she's really the first girl not to throw herself on top of me, especially when she had several golden chances to do so. It was new, for me - and I liked it, to be frank."

The tension was officially broken.

"And somehow or another - I found his insults became endearing - and I don't even know. It just - happened."

"What brought you to Sydney, though? Just us?"

"'Just you'?" Hermione laughed. "No, we were here looking for one of Draco's old Death Eater contacts - Yaxley."

"Did you find him?" her mother was anxious.

"Yes, with a bit of difficulty - and as we were leaving for London, Draco found you, and we promised to come back as soon as we'd turned Yaxley in."

"And in the meantime, she decided that she'd fall in love with me," Draco added, smirking.

Dr. Granger looked from her daughter to the blond man next to her. "If you're happy - I mean, you hated him for years, I don't -"

"Trust me, I didn't see this coming, either."

"If you're happy, then I'm good with it." She beamed at her daughter.

"Actually - you're the first to know, really."

"Good. It should be that way." Her father, ever-protective, said nothing else - and that silence in and of itself was approval enough.

It was a happy couple that returned to London that night, content with themselves - and each other.


	16. Chapter XVI: Breaking News

**Author's note: **Let's talk to Ginny & Harry, shall we? :P Awkward, I know. As always, read & review (:

* * *

><p>"You know," Hermione said softly, once they had settled in her flat, sitting next to each other on her sofa. "We're going to have to tell Ginny and Harry and all..."<p>

"Mmm," Draco agreed distractedly, running his slender fingers over her smooth hands. "My mother, too."

She grimaced. "I'm not at all looking forward to _that_."

"Oh, she'll be perfectly cordial to you. I'll get it from her, behind closed doors - mudblood, muggle-born, all that nonsense."

"So it's nonsense now, is it?"

"Well, it's not like it can really be anything else, can it? I mean - if I still thought you had dirty blood, then I wouldn't be here."

"I still don't understand how you've justified this to yourself."

"How did you go from thinking I'm a foul git to considering me your knight in shining armor?" he retorted.

"Your insults became endearing, and you let me in on your weakness. I got to know you too well. Underneath your blasted arrogance, you're not that bad, you know."

"'Not that bad'? Should I be flattered?"

"Yes, very," she giggled. "Answer me though - how did it happen?"

"If you really did have cheap, dirty blood, it would follow that you'd be a sort of slut - throwing yourself around, desperate, you know."

"A Lavender." She bit her lip. "I shouldn't have said that."

He laughed. "Exactly. And yes, you should have. You're only trying to be nice because she's seeing your bloody friend, the Weasel."

She said nothing.

"It's high time you stopped trying to think well of that sod."

"Don't call him-"

He silenced her with a finger on her lips. "You wanted an answer; I'm giving you one. Hush." Choosing his words carefully, he slowly continued. "You weren't like... Pansy, or Astoria, or anyone of them. You were... different. And at first, it drove me nuts. Seriously. It wasn't a conscious decision, leaving the pureblood nonsense behind."

She appeared satisfied with his answer. "I suppose it makes sense - sort of." Her voice was slightly doubtful.

"It makes _lots _of sense, dolt. Just because you don't understand something for once... Get used to _not_ being the know-it-all in this relationship, will you? Things will be blasted diffic- ow! Don't - swat - me - with - a - book!" He returned her blows, grabbing the nearest pillow and punctuating each word of his sentence with a smack.

Dropping the book as they both laughed breathlessly, Hermione had a chance to glance at the cover - Pride and Prejudice. She never had put it away, had she? _Ironic_, she remembered. _I said he was a fake Darcy - because it was too storybook to be true. I guess I was wrong. _

* * *

><p>"Wow! It all happened so fast - you guys are already back?" Ginny hadn't realized they had left and returned already. "And did he really have to go with you?"<p>

"He figured he'd know where Yaxley was staying and all, so..."

"I know, you told me. Still," the redhead frowned, settling down on Hermione's sofa. "it's been bugging me. I really didn't mean for this to become such an issue when I saved him from Azkaban."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked innocently.

"You're getting saddled with him! Seriously - how many times have you two met in the past month? Nearly every day, it sounds like."

"Well, that one week you two were gone - then he didn't come at all."

"Not seeing him for an _entire week_. How dreadful," Ginny replied sarcastically. "See what I mean? I feel terrible. Stop trying to make me feel better about it."

"It's really not that big of a deal, Ginny." _Well, it is - just not in the way she thinks it is._

She sighed. "If you say so. Anyhow, if you want me to take over from here, I suppose I will."

"Er - well, there's some work left over. We've - he's - got to get the legislation into the hands of the lawmakers, you see."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That doesn't require him meeting with you. I'll be in charge, now - I'll schedule his meetings with Ernie, even, if I can get my hands on him."

"You mean if he'll condescend to interact with a mere prosecutor like you." Hermione laughed at their old schoolmate's pomposity.

"That too. Either way, I'll take Malfoy off your hands."

The bushy-haired witch bit her lip. Should she say something? "Ginny, that's really not necessary. I really don't mind working with him," she confessed.

The other witch raised an eyebrow. "Really. After years and years of insults and name-calling and -"

"It's cute," she blurted.

"It's _what?_"

"Oh - er -" She felt herself turning red under Ginny's gaze. "Well - you see -"

The doorbell rang. Hermione stood up to go open the door, bewildered - who would be calling now? Harry?

She opened the door to a lean, blond man who looked completely exhausted.

"Mum's back from her trip, and she's just gone and blown up about Astoria not being home. She half-expected us to get married while she was gone, I think. Anyway, I needed to esca- oh." He noticed Ginny sitting inside.

"Why don't you come in?" Hermione suggested uncertainly.

As he stepped in, he saw the looks exchanged between the two women, and immediately understood that Ginny didn't know yet, and that Hermione was having a rather hard time trying to explain. He smirked. Best to do this his way, he figured.

Bending down to cup Hermione's face in his hands, he kissed her softly - then with a little more force. Pulling away, he stage whispered, "It's nice to see you again, love."

His arm fell down around her shoulders as he turned to face the flabbergasted redhead.

"Get your arm _off _of her," she exclaimed, enraged. "How _dare _you - and you? You 'don't mind' working with him? Really, Hermione."

"I've never done that before," he justified. _In public, anyway. _

Hermione looked at him, somewhat startled. "Dr-"

"Don't do it again, then. Can someone explain to me what the bloody hell is going on?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh, blast the visitor, I don't give a fu- oh. Hello, Harry," she said awkwardly.

"Mind if I join the - Malfoy?" The look on his face spoke volumes, epitomizing both his and Ginny's thoughts.

Hermione sighed wearily. "Let's all sit down, and I'll explain-"

"No, I'll explain," Draco cut over her.

"Draco - no. Just sit down. Please?"

"Fine - but if you fail miserably, and I'm sure you will - then I'm taking over."

"Oh, shut your trap, Malfoy. No one gives a damn," Ginny snarled. "Stop with the insults, will you?"

"I have every right to! She's my-"

"_Draco!_" Hermione was the only one standing now; the other three had seated themselves comfortably on her sofa and armchair, Harry's arm protectively around Ginny.

"Let Hermione finish," the raven-haired hero commanded.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled. "Okay, look. I -" Suddenly she wasn't sure to just come out with it, or explain how it had all happened. Explanation was probably preferable, judging by the look on Ginny's face. "Ginny, you were right. At first. I saw Malfoy _far_ too much for my own liking, and yes, he insulted me nearly every chance he got. And when I told him I'd taken over his probation, he tried to - well, he tried to-"

"I tried to make her fall for me," Malfoy inserted coolly.

"Why am I not surprised?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"It didn't really work, though," he frowned, remembering her fury. "And that confused me - it always works, you know, the shoving into a booksh-"

"Malfoy, we don't need to hear about your conquests," Harry interrupted. "Hermione - go on."

"Right. Anyway, he was generally being a prat, as per usual. But then - well, I had him working with me on house elf legislation, and we actually had a civil conversation, for the first time. It was really -" She struggled for words. "Awkward. Like - I don't know. I just walked away, kind of drained, because no one had ever really talked with me like that before. No offense to either of you, of course," she smiled at her two friends.

They nodded, kind of seeing where this was going.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed. "Ron and I never were smart enough," he said ruefully.

Hermione ignored him, shaking her head as she went on. "And then - well, Percy's birthday -"

"No, first was Astoria," Draco corrected.

"Fine, you tell, then. I want to know how this happened, too."

He considered how best to attack the topic, then decided to go full out. He had to make them understand he really loved Hermione, after all, right? "That day - when we had that conversation - I had this song stuck in my head, because she'd left her radio on, set to the classical station. And then when I got home, I turned on the wireless to that station - I _never_ turn on the wireless, understand. Astoria was annoyed that I picked such an - er - boring station, I guess. We kind of fought. I kicked her out."

"That's not harsh," Ginny commented caustically.

"Yeah, well..." Now this was getting awkward for him. _Shit. _"She was kind of a slut, anyway."

"I recall you telling my- saying that most girls were sluts, compared to me," Hermione teased. Something about his kicking Astoria out made her happy. She couldn't imagine what. "Anyway, after that - the birthday gala, right? I figured that since it was Percy, most of the important types would be around, and it would be a good place for Draco to be. So I-" she looked at him deviously. "I made him think that I _was_ falling for him - the nervous hair-twirling, the jerky motions, you know, Ginny."

The redhead nodded. This was the Hermione she knew, too independent to fall for any man just like that.

"So, somehow or another - I got him to take me to Percy's party. And in the middle of that, he decided I needed a new dress." She rolled her eyes. "So we went shopping, and he proved to me that he can actually be a gentleman."

"And she proved that I was a date worthy of her best appearance and efforts." They shared a smile that only they understood.

Harry read a lot in that secret joke - more than Ginny did.

"And we saw you at the party - so that was partly for the sake of the legislation, and partly for the sake of Ron and Lavender, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I suppose," Hermione admitted. "Seeing those two together, though - I think that was it for me, about Ron. I moved on."

"You left together - where -?"

"Er - well - we -"

"We went to Malfoy Manor, got slightly tipsy congratulating each other on making progress, and-"

"Oh no," Harry winced.

Ginny understood. "_Oh._"

"It was only a snog," Hermione amended hastily.

"_Only? _Hermione, you detested this man - and he was no less horrible about you, either!"

"We were kind of drunk, then," she justified. "And by that point, I guess we were friends - his insults had kind of lost their sting."

"And I was desperate to prove to myself that I could get her to care for me." Draco said quietly. He might as well be honest. He didn't have much to lose, not with this crowd.

"What do you mean?" Harry spoke.

"She's so - hard to get, you know? And it was irritating me, because usually, I have my way with women, in the end - and she wasn't letting me in."

Ginny grinned. "Good for her."

"Anyway, after the weekend, I was determined to avoid him - because-"

"Because you were falling in love with him," Harry suggested.

She nodded, looking at her feet. "And then the whole Yaxley thing - Kingsley let him come with me, because he'd know where Yaxley was - and he did-"

"And once we'd captured Yaxley, I found her parents," Draco continued, not wanting to go into detail about what had happened in Yaxley's flat.

"You - _what?_" Ginny was shocked. "It's been - years!"

"We gave Yaxley over to Kingsley, and went back to restore their memories."

Harry beamed at her. "I'm glad - I was going to ask you if you wanted me to help you do it or something."

"I guess I beat you to it, then, Potter." Draco smirked.

"Yeah, I suppose," he acknowledged reluctantly.

"And so they were the first to know, really," Hermione finished.

Ginny closed her eyes. "I still need time to process this. So you two are - an - item?"

Draco stood up to go stand by Hermione. "I'm pretty sure neither of us are objects, but yes."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you - sure? Is it just - I mean, you said that no one else would understand what it-"

"Draco understands. He went through it, too." Her voice was painfully quiet. "If it's not him, then it's no one. And I mean that, at least."

"If you're happy," Harry shrugged. He'd seen this coming when he walked in on the two standing so close, with Draco's arm around Hermione. It made sense, after all. He yawned - he was hungry.

Hermione looked at Draco, smiling. The expression in his eyes as steel met chocolate - Ginny was left with no doubt that they were both happy, moreso than anyone could have ever imagined. She'd just have to be satisfied with that - and get used to seeing his blond mop around more than she'd like.


	17. Chapter XVII: Mummy Malfoy

**Author's Note: **Super long-overdue, sorry. But here they are - what to do about Narcissa? Read&Review(:

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><p>"So you'll be moving into the Manor, eventually, at some point," Draco commented, trying his hardest to be casual. <em>Being nonchalant was never this difficult with anyone else, blast it.<em>

"I will?" She smirked, then grimaced. "I'd much rather not be in the same room as that Astoria was."

"Whoever said anything about sharing a room?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Now who's the one making conquests?"

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy. Not to mention, I don't even think your mother would allow me on the property. I'd soil it, you know."

He shrugged. "If that's her attitude - well, you already have soiled it, technically. And as far as I'm concerned, Astoria did worse as far as dirtying hallowed ground goes and all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "She wasn't that bad, calm down." His dissatisfaction and disgust with his ex-girlfriend _did _make for a nice compliment, though.

"Like you would know."

"You were with her for two years! Does that mean nothing?"

"It meant something then, not anymore."

"And whyever not? You did _choose_ to be with her, after all. For two whole years."

"I was settling for what my parents gave me."

"Your _parents_ chose Astoria? Oh, bloody hell-"

"Don't say that; you sound like the Weasel."

"His name is _Ron_, but anyway. Your _parents_ chose her. Do you have any idea what that means? I'm a replacement for what _they_ wanted. Which makes me twice as worse as if I wasn't."

Draco considered this for a few moments. "No one said it would be easy."

She sighed. "Let's get this over with soon, then, please?"

"They're not going to kill you or anything, relax! They're my parents!"

"Your _aunt _did _this_ to me, remember?" She yanked up her sleeve, revealing her scars. "This is slightly harder than you seem to understand." Her voice was taut, tense, full of quiet fury.

He breathed heavily. "When I tell you to relax, it's because I'm trying to do the same thing. I know who my parents - family - are. I know what they're capable of. But it's only my mother this time. I'm hoping that maybe -"

"I'm sorry - I shouldn't overreact. It's not your fault that- I shouldn't have -"

Placing his hand under her chin, he brought her face up to his, meeting her eyes. "We're going to get through this, Granger. Together."

His eyes were steel.

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><p>"Draco, where on earth have you been, gallivanting off? You can't just leave your poor mother at home alone like that, you know." Narcissa's tone was reprimanding, and yet somehow gentle. Hermione had honestly never seen that expression on her face before - motherly concern, tenderness. She didn't realize she wasn't alone with her beloved Draco.<p>

"I'm sorry, Mother. I - there was - business to attend to." He glanced briefly back at Hermione, who stood hidden in his shadow.

Narcissa still didn't notice her. "I was afraid, Draco," she said quietly. "I don't want to lose you, too. Please - understand that."

"I do, Mother. I understand perfectly." He struggled with his words for a moment, not saying anything more.

"Well, do come in, then- oh. _Oh._" She looked at Draco. "_Business._ I see. My son has been with _muggles_."

"It's not like that, Mother, please-"

"No, Draco. Let me." Hermione's voice was quiet, but firm. She knew that Narcissa had let her guard down by confessing her fears for her son's safety - and that she resented having been observed without knowing. She felt violated, in a way. It made sense.

"Are you sure?" He was uncertain.

"Let her explain herself," Narcissa commanded. "What enchantments have you used to bewitch my son? I presume he thinks he is in a relationship with you. In fact - she must be the reason the Greengrasses refuse to speak to us now."

"That's their loss, not ours, Mother. We're Malfoys, after all."

"That name means nothing in this new world, do you not understand?" she hissed. "You were only just saved from Azkaban - we purebloods need to stay united if we are to stay afloat."

"Actually, I think an alliance with Hermione may prove more fruitful, if that's where your goals lie."

"As you said, we are Malfoys. Some things simply do not become us."

"Astoria was a whore, Mother. All she wanted was - well -"

His mother's eyes grew wide. "How dare you-"

"Mrs. Malfoy!" Hermione said loudly. "Your issue with me is that I am muggle-born, correct? And that I replaced Astoria as Draco's chosen - girlfriend?"

She nodded curtly.

"I can only speak for myself, but I will have you know that I will do all that is in my power to make him happy. Mind you, that is despite the years of abuse I suffered at the hands of your son. Abuse that was a result of the way you and your husband raised him." So maybe accusing her wasn't the best course to take, but to hell with it, right?

Narcissa stiffened. "We have always taught our son to behave as is proper according to his rank."

"If he truly is high-born, then he should be able to be with a muggle-born without tainting his reputation. Or is the name of Malfoy so weak as to crumble as soon as one of its descendants consorts with someone like me?"

Draco grinned. He _loved _Hermione. Really, he did.

"The name of Malfoy is fragile, as I said before, and it can only be strengthened by making alliances-"

"With those who are in power now. Like me. I am in charge of his probation. Wouldn't you rather be in my good books?" Her voice was challenging; her eyes flashing with brilliance.

"There will be a time when we shall rise again, and we will not need your support. What will you do when he discards you on the side of the road because you are no longer necessary?"

Hermione faltered slightly. She couldn't counter that, only he could answer for his feelings.

Thankfully, Draco intervened. "Look, Mother. It's simple."

"Is it, really?"

"I love her. What more do you want from me?"

"You - _what?_"

"I. Love. Her."

"Malfoys do not - do not - we do not _love_." She was flustered.

"Oh, I think you do," Hermione said quietly. "Stop trying to be your husband, please. It's just making everything twice as difficult for all of us. All you want is for Draco to be happy; he's your _son_, not your slave."

Narcissa didn't know how to respond to that. Sometimes, there is too much truth in a statement, and all we can do is nod, or remain silent, because there really is no conversation after.

The three stood, not a word between them, for several moments. Then-

"Won't you - sit down?" Narcissa gestured brokenly, all flow and coherence lost. "I'll - just - go - food - eat." She rushed out of the room.

"Well," smirked Draco. "I think that went fairly well."


	18. Chapter XVIII: Epilogue

**Author's note: **Epilogue! :) I know the conversation between Hermione & her kid is slightly reminiscent of another (far more canon) conversation, between a raven-haired man and his younger son. But still. I never did claim to own Harry Potter or anything.

Final installment - enjoy! Especially the outside literary references (there are more than one - can you spot them?) (; Read & Review!

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><p>"Scorpius!" Hermione yelled up the stairs. "Are you ready yet? It's been nearly two hours!"<p>

"Coming, Mother - just a moment more, please? I'm gelling my hair, almost done."

"Just like his father, spends hours and hours just-"

"What's that about his father?" Draco grinned, cutting off her grumbling.

"Hmm?"

"I thought I heard you muttering something about how gorgeous and wonderful his father is, and how much you absolutely adore him."

"Yeah, well, not when he's leaving all the parenting to me," she scowled, but she really couldn't be angry for long. He _had_ taken charge of helping Lizzie pack, after all.

Their 11 year old daughter walked into the family room, dragging her trunk and bird cage behind her.

"Scorpius!" Hermione called, exasperated.

He leapt lithely down the steps, his trunk and broom thudding heavily as they followed.

"Here, Mother. Were you calling me, by any chance?" His sweet yet saucy smile was so reminiscent of Draco that Hermione burst out laughing.

"Let's go," she smiled. "We'll miss the train, otherwise."

"Hermione, it's 10. We are _not_ going to miss the train." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Mummy," Lizzie asked softly, looking at a picture on the mantelpiece.

"Yes, darling?"

"Can I take this with me - just to remember you and Daddy?" She held out the frame to her mother.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

_Draco stood proudly in his tux, his arm around his newlywed wife as she beamed at the photographer. Her wedding dress flowed off her body like honey, emphasizing all the right curves in appropriately modest ways. She was a prude, after all. Still, she could not have looked happier - the couple looked into each other's eyes, leaning in for a kiss. Their expressions as they pulled away spoke volumes._

Hermione swore that the 16-years-previous version of herself looked her directly in the eyes, as if to remind her why she'd ended up with that foul Malfoy git. As though she needed reminding. Looking up, she found her husband's hand stretched out, asking to see which picture it was that their daughter wanted to take. The expression in his eyes really hadn't changed much at all. She obliged, and their wedding picture slid from one spouse to the other.

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><p>Moments after they pulled through the barrier at King's Cross - Scorpius with Hermione, Lizzie with Draco - some of the older boy's soon-to-be fifth year peers called him over, and, bestowing a quick kiss on his mother's cheek, and shaking his father's hand, he was off.<p>

She sighed. "He's so eager to leave."

Draco laughed. "Oh, he'll be just as eager to come home, don't worry. He always is. Can't stay away from his mother's delicious cooking for too long."

"Is it that? Or the creature comforts?"

"Our son is _not_ a spoiled brat, Granger."

She grinned. "If he is, it's all your genes."

He smirked. "So maybe he is, just a _little_ bit."

"A _lot_ bit. Anyway." She turned to her first year daughter. "You ready for this?"

"I - I don't know," Lizzie admitted. "I'm rather confused, Mother," she blushed. She _hated _not knowing things clearly.

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Well - you were in Gryffindor - and Daddy was in Slytherin - and Scorpius ended up in Ravenclaw - which am I to go into?"

"Hufflepuff," Draco said confidently. "Definitely Hufflepuff."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being sarcastic, you twat. Hufflepuff is a perfectly good house."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. That's why I said it, you see."

"Don't listen to your father," she muttered, as her daughter giggled. "Look, Elizabeth. I don't think even Daddy knows this story," she bent down, whispering. "There's a reason I named you Elizabeth."

"Pride and Prejudice?" Lizzie asked hopefully. "I've always hoped you named me after Lizzie Bennet. Not that you'd even think of naming me after a character in a muggle novel, or anything," she blushed, feeling like she'd said something rather foolish. She _hated _sounding foolish, almost as much as she hated not knowing things.

"That's exactly right! Of course you're right - you're my daughter, after all. Anyway. Elizabeth Bennet thinks for herself, doesn't she? She doesn't let any cocky, arrogant, annoying man's opinions of her offend her or interfere with her life. Or nasty woman's, for that matter, thinking of Caroline."

"Of course."

"So if there's anyone whose opinion you're worrying about..."

Lizzie smiled. "Not really, but I'm glad you told me about my name, Mother. It makes me feel a lot more - special? To be named after..."

"You take after her, don't worry," Draco added loudly, joining in with what he thought was an appropriate comment.

"Do you even know what we're talking about?"

"I'm assuming we're discussing how you share a middle name, no?"

The two ladies laughed. "Not at all, Daddy."

"Draco gets zero marks, wouldn't you say, Lizzie?"

"Always," she giggled, placing a kiss on each parent's cheek. "Write to me, please?"

"Of course, silly. Why else would we have gotten you an owl? Your mother wanted a cat to replace her old one, you know, but I wouldn't allow it. Be grateful. Owls can carry mail much better than felines." He smirked.

As their daughter boarded the train, she waved back, disappearing into the throngs of students already on board.

Draco took his wife's hand in his. "You know," he said as they walked through the barrier, "I had a great-uncle named Fitzwilliam. I'm glad we didn't name Scorpius after him - or after any other Fitzwilliam, for that matter."

"Your mother tried to convince me to make his middle name Lucius."

"It's a Malfoy tradition to give the son the grandfather's middle name."

"I gathered."

"I'm glad I put my foot down."

"So am I - Edmond is so much nicer, don't you think?"

"But you know the best name of all, don't you?"

"What - _Draco_? Please."

"Nope - _mudblood. _It refers to one who has immense power over another. As in - kill them with a look, torture with a glance, and use even the briefest of words to send the other flying into the depths of love. That kind of power."

"Really?"

"I told you I'd invent a new definition, just to use the word more often."

"Actually, I'm fairly sure _I_ told _you_ that."

"Oh yes. I forgot to mention - mudblood means bloody know-it-all, too."

"You - complete - git." She swatted him lightly.

"Git?"

"Yes - it means an unfortunately attractive person, didn't you know?"

"Just checking, mudbl-"

She silenced him with a kiss.


End file.
